Soul Screamers, Volume 1

There was nothing new about Alyson Baker or Meredith Cole, but the coroner had officially declared a cause of death for Heidi Anderson. Heart failure. But wasn’t that ultimately what everyone died of? However, in Heidi’s case, there was no cause listed for her heart failure. As I’d known all along, she’d simply died. Period.

Frustrated all over again, I turned off the computer and dropped the home phone into its cradle on my way to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later, showered, blow-dried, and dressed, I sat at the bar in the kitchen with a glass of juice and a granola bar. I’d just ripped open the wrapper when Aunt Val wandered in, wrapped in my uncle’s terry-cloth robe, rather than her usual silky one. Her hair was one big blond tangle, yesterday’s styling gel spiking random strands in odd places, like a leftover punk rocker’s. Eyeliner was smeared below her eyes, and her skin was pale beneath lingering blotches of blush and foundation.

She shuffled straight to the coffeepot, which was already full and steaming. For several minutes, I chewed in silence as she sipped, but by the time she brought her second mug to the counter, the caffeine had kicked in.

“I’m sorry about last night, hon.” She combed one hand over her hair, trying to smooth it. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend.”

“It’s fine.” I wadded my wrapper and tossed it into the trash can on the other side of the room. “There was too much else going wrong to worry about one drunk aunt.”

She grimaced, then nodded. “I guess I deserved that.”

But watching her wince over every movement—as if contact with the very air hurt—made me feel guilty. “No, you don’t. I’m sorry.”

“So am I.” Aunt Val forced a smile. “I can’t begin to explain how sorry I am. None of this is your fault....” She stared down into her coffee, as if she had more to say, but the words had fallen into the mug and were now too soggy to use.

“Don’t worry about it.” I finished my orange juice and set my glass in the sink, then headed back to my room, where I texted Emma to make sure she was still coming to the memorial.

Her mom said she’d meet me there fifteen minutes early—at a quarter to one.

The rest of the morning passed in one endless stretch of mindless television and internet surfing. I tried twice to get my uncle alone so I could pass along Tod’s information, but every time I found him, he was with a very somber, clingy Sophie, who seemed to be dreading the memorial as badly as I was.

After an early lunch I could only pick at, I changed out of my T-shirt, hoping my long-sleeved black blouse was appropriate attire for the memorial service for someone I’d failed to save. On my way out the door, I saw Sophie sitting on the bench in the hall, her hands folded on the skirt of a slim black dress, her head hanging so that her long blond hair fell nearly to her chest. She looked so pitiful, so lost, that as badly as I hated to spoil the drive alone with Nash, I offered her a ride to school.

“Mom’s taking me,” she said, briefly meeting my gaze with her own huge, sad eyes.

“Okay.” Just as well.

I pulled into Nash’s driveway five minutes later and waited nervously for him to get into the car. I was afraid talking to him would be weird after his middle-of-the-night fight with Tod, and his reluctant discussion of it with me. But he leaned over to kiss me as soon as his door was closed, and from the depth of that kiss—and the fact that neither of us seemed willing to end it—I was guessing he was over the awkwardness.

The school parking lot was packed. Overflowing. Lots of parents had come, as well as some city officials, and according to the morning paper, the school had called in extra counselors to help the students learn to deal with their grief. We had to park on the side of the road nearest the gym and walk nearly a quarter of a mile. Nash took my hand on the way, and we met Emma at the front door, where one of her sisters had dropped her off. I’d promised to give her a ride home.

Emma looked like crap. She wore her hair pulled into a tight, no-frills ponytail, along with the bare minimum of makeup. And if her reddened eyes were any indication, she’d been crying. But she didn’t know Meredith any better than I did.

“You okay?” I slipped my free arm around her waist as we made our way through a set of double doors, pushed along with the crowd.

“Yeah. This whole thing’s just so weird. First that girl at the club, then the one at the movies. Now one from our own school. Everyone’s talking about it. And they don’t even know about you,” she said, whispering the last word.

“Well, it gets even weirder than that.” Nash and I guided her toward an empty alcove near the restrooms. I hadn’t had a chance to tell her any of the latest developments, and for once I was glad she was grounded from her phone. If she hadn’t been, I might have blurted out the whole story—bean sidhes, grim reapers, and death lists—before I’d thought any of it through. Which probably would have scared her even more.