Before I Wake

6

TOD HAD TO head back to work, but Sabine wanted to stay the night with Nash, and I let her, adhering to the whole “strength in numbers” philosophy. Alone, she’d make a much better target for Avari, and I couldn’t risk letting her be either possessed, if Cujo—her Netherworld guard dog—fell down on the job, or was hurt, if he warned her and she fought.

I checked on Em and Sophie both twice during the night, and every time I got back to my room, Sabine was just sitting in my desk chair, watching Nash sleep. Not in the creepy way. In the worried way.

“He’s going to be okay,” I said, perching on the edge of my desk to watch him with her. I tried to say it like I meant it, but the truth was that I held no authority on the subject of Nash.

Or the subject of being okay.

“He wanted to go visit Scott, you know,” Sabine said, like we were in the middle of a conversation I couldn’t remember starting. “I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what he needed to hear. He wanted to go see Scott because Scott is a piece of his life from back when his life made sense. He wanted to recapture some of that, and he wanted to apologize for being part of what put Scott in the psych ward. But he was scared that the Scott he knew wouldn’t be in there anymore, and if that was true, there’d be nothing left of his life from before. His best friends are either dead or insane, and the rest of them avoid him at school because they don’t know how to talk to him anymore. And half of them think he tried to kill you. But…”

Sabine looked up at me, and her dark eyes only hinted at the raw pain her voice laid bare. “But beyond all that, Nash was terrified that being that close to Avari would be too much for him. That he wouldn’t be able to resist the temptation, so close to the source.” She shrugged. “So I told him he shouldn’t go. Not that it mattered. A couple of weeks later, you made out with his brother, and sent him right over the deep end again.”

“Neither of us meant for any of that to happen,” I said. On the list of conversations I never wanted to have with Sabine, this one was right at the top. “And anyway, you got what you wanted, right?”

Her dark eyes narrowed as she tossed a one-armed gesture at Nash, still passed out on my bed. “Does this look like what I wanted?”

“He’s having a rough month. We all are.”

“A rough month? Kaylee, I spent years trying to find him, and when I finally did, you were standing in my place. So I backed off and let your blatantly ill-fated relationship run its course—”

“You didn’t back off, you tried to kill me!” I interjected.

“Well, I had to try, didn’t I?” she demanded, and I couldn’t decide which fallacy in that sentence to address first, so I saved my breath. “But even with me there, waiting almost patiently, doing all the best-friend stuff because I love him, he’s moping over the friends he’s lost instead of seeing what he’s gained. And now you’re finally out of the picture—or so I thought—and look where he winds up.” She glanced at Nash again, and I flinched, though I’d played no part in his drunken late-night walk. “That’s probably the longest he’s ever even been in your bed.”

“It is.”

“What does that mean, Kaylee? Why would he rather be alone in your bed than with me in his?”

Well, damn. Sad Sabine was no easier to deal with than angry Sabine. The last time she’d been distraught over Nash, she’d hijacked both me and my car and tried to make me fix what she’d messed up.

“Okay, look. He didn’t come here to climb into my bed, Sabine. He came here because he wanted answers, and it’s obviously a lot easier to ask for them when he’s drunk. You’re just going to have to give him some time. He’s lost right now, but he’s strong, and he will bounce back from this. And when he does, he’s going to realize that you were there the whole time.”

“You really believe that?”

I’d never seen her so vulnerable. “Yeah. I do.” She really loved him. That had to mean something, and when Nash was thinking straight, he had to see that.

Sabine glanced at her hands in her lap, like whatever she had to say next required a little bit of a lead-in. Then she met my gaze again. “Thank you.” Sabine blinked, and the vulnerability I’d glimpsed was gone. “Now, could we maybe pretend this whole bonding exercise never happened?”

I laughed. “I’d like nothing better.”

I started cooking around six-thirty in the morning, my hair still dripping from the shower. I’d never made anything more complicated than microwave pancakes, but with time on my hands, a house full of guests, and a father obsessed with the concept of the “family meal,” I thought I’d give it a go.

I microwaved a pound of bacon six strips at a time—turns out the key is good drainage—and made pancakes from a jug of mix-and-pour batter I found in the cabinet. It was only three days past its use-by date, so I figured the chances of it making anyone sick were slim.

The first three pancakes were amorphous blobs—I swear, one looked just like a storm trooper—but by the fourth, I’d figured out how to flip them without making a huge mess.

Nash shuffled into the kitchen as I was putting down a saucer of raw venison for Styx, and she glanced away from her breakfast just long enough to aim a yippy hello his way. She’d always liked Nash, but she still wasn’t comfortable with Tod, probably because he was dead. At first, I’d worried that she wouldn’t like me after my own death, but apparently our initial bonding transcended the questionable state of my existence.

“Hey,” I said as Nash bent to scratch the back of Styx’s neck. “I made coffee if you want some.”

“Thanks.” He sat in a chair at the table—the same chair that had always been “his” when we were together—and accepted the mug I set in front of him.

“Where’s Sabine?”

“In the shower.” Nash scrubbed his face with both hands. “Kaylee, I’m so sorry for…whatever I said or did last night.”

“You don’t remember?” I poured coffee for myself and scooped sugar into the mug.

“I remember parts of it,” he said, and I wanted to ask which parts those were, but a rehash seemed like a really bad idea.

“You said you saw Scott. Do you remember that?”

Nash’s eyes widened in surprise, then lost focus as he nodded, clearly trying to remember. “I thought I was dreaming at the time, but I wasn’t. I really saw him. Outside, on the street.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. Somewhere between my house and yours.”

“Did he say anything?”

Nash shook his head slowly. “He just looked at me for a minute, then turned around and walked off.”

“But you’re sure it was him?”

“Yeah.”

I sat in the chair next to Nash and sipped from my mug, trying to decide how best to say what needed to be said. “Tod and I saw him last night, too. Earlier. In the hospital. He was possessed, Nash. Which means you probably saw Avari.”

Nash frowned. “How do you know? Did he sound like Avari?”

“No, the voice sounded like Scott, but the words sounded like Avari.” Normally when a hellion possesses a human, the hellion retains his own voice. But… “He’s spent the past few months in Scott’s head, so it’s entirely possible he learned how to work Scott’s vocal chords, just like he did with Alec. When he was possessing Alec, I couldn’t tell the difference.”

“Hey. Your turn in the shower,” Sabine said, padding into the kitchen in my robe.

“Thanks.” Nash stood and glanced from her to me, then back, like he wasn’t sure what to say with us both listening. Then he made a break for the bathroom while Sabine snagged a piece of bacon from the platter.

“Hi,” Sabine said, still chewing as she lifted the card from a vase of wilting mixed blooms on the counter. “The school sent you flowers. I’m sure that totally makes up for the fact that they hired the psychotic, soul-stealing pedophile who murdered you in your own home.”

I could only blink at her while she chewed.

With the pancakes warming on a pan in the oven and the last batch of bacon in the microwave, I knocked on my father’s bedroom door. “Yeah, Kay, come on in.”

I pushed open the door to find him sitting on the edge of his bed in a pair of flannel pajama pants, squinting at the alarm clock on his bedside table. “Guess what? I made breakfast.”

“You made…?” But before he could finish that thought, our ancient water heater groaned to life and the sound of running water erupted from down the hall. My dad’s eyes widened as he glanced at the closed bathroom door over my shoulder. “Who’s in the shower?”

“Nash. We kind of…had an impromptu sleepover.”

“You and Nash?” My dad was out of bed in an instant, reaching for the robe tossed over his footboard.

“No! Well, yes. But Sabine stayed the night, too.”

“That doesn’t sound much better, Kay… .”

“Hang on, Pa, don’t reach for yer shotgun just yet,” I said, grinning over the protective streak I found funny, when there wasn’t actually anything to shelter me from. “We were just circlin’ the wagons, not having an orgy.”

My dad suddenly looked like he might be sick. “Please don’t ever say that word again.”

“Wagons?” I teased, and he actually cracked a smile.

“Yes, you’re much too young to be using Wild West analogies.” He tied his robe and ran one hand through hair that showed no sign of thinning, well into his one hundred and thirty-second year. “So what happened? Why are we circling the proverbial wagons?”

I sat on the edge of his bed and patted the spot next to me until he sat again. “Scott’s out of the hospital. Nash saw him last night, and we’re pretty sure that means he actually saw Avari.”

“Nash came here because he saw Avari?”

“Actually, he was on his way here when he saw Avari. But he thought it was Scott, and he doesn’t remember much of it this morning.”

My dad’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because he was drunk.”

“Nash came to see you drunk?” My dad exhaled and rubbed his forehead. “Whatever happened to the good old-fashioned drunk dial?”

“I believe that’s now the drunk text, but I think Nash wanted answers in person.”

“Okay, so let me get this straight: the reaper who killed my wife and tried to kill my daughter has come back from the dead and is following orders from the hellion obsessed with owning my daughter’s soul, and now possesses the body of an escaped mental patient who also tried to kill you. Did I get that right?”

“We think Scott was officially released, but other than that, sounds about right.” Why is it that my life can never be summarized in a sentence with fewer than three clauses?

“And you didn’t wake me up because…?”

“Because there’s nothing you could have done.”

My dad scowled. “Kaylee, next time, wake me up.”

“We’re kind of hoping there won’t be a next time.”

Footsteps echoed behind me, and we both turned to see Sabine step out of my room, still wearing my robe. “Hey, Mr. Cavanaugh,” she said on her way to the front of the house.

“You know this can’t be an everyday thing, right, Kaylee?” my dad whispered when she was gone.

“I think it’s safe to say none of us wants that. But on the bright side, I made bacon.”

Breakfast was a whole new kind of awkward, with me sandwiched at the table by my irritated father and my hungover ex-boyfriend, who still wore my dad’s shorts. Sabine seemed oblivious to the unspoken tension—her attention was occupied by a stack of pancakes and a pile of bacon.

After we ate, as I was digging through the hall closet for spare toothbrushes, I heard my father and Nash talking in the kitchen. Alone. The urge to go incorporeal so I could sneak closer and listen was almost too much to resist. In the end, the only thing that stopped me was the fact that I’d spied on Nash once before, with Tod’s help, then promised never to do it again.

Instead, I went really still and listened closely, and in retrospect, I was glad I couldn’t see either of them.

“Do you have any idea how inappropriate your behavior was last night?” my father demanded in a deep, growly voice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Cavanaugh. I wasn’t thinking.”

“No, you weren’t. I know you’ve had a rough time these past few months, and I know that not all of it was your fault. But everyone has it rough sometimes, Nash. What defines us isn’t the strikes life throws at us, but how we bear them. I’ve made my share of mistakes, so it may look like I’m throwing stones from inside a glass house, but my job as a parent is to hurl those stones at anyone who puts my daughter in danger. Do you understand that?”

“Yes. Of course.” Nash sounded sick and miserable.

“If I ever catch you drinking or not thinking around Kaylee again, you’re going to wish they’d never let you out of that jail cell. Are we all clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

I couldn’t decide whether I was more embarrassed for me or for Nash, but in the end, I considered us both lucky my dad hadn’t banned him from the house. Or called his mom.

Sabine had a change of clothes in her car—I was starting to wonder how often she was staying at Nash’s and whether or not Harmony knew about the sleepovers—but we had to stop by his house so Nash could change.

In spite of the predawn drama and an awkward start to the day, Tuesday morning was better than the day before. I rode to school with Nash and Sabine to avoid facing the reporters alone, and I was relieved to see that, this time, there were only two, each with a single cameraman. Sabine said they might leave me alone if I gave them a couple of seconds of usable footage to run with the headline Teenage Stab Victim Returns to School! so I let them film me climbing the front steps of the building.

I thought I was prepared for the questions they’d shout at me from the sidewalk—they weren’t actually allowed on school property—but instead of asking how I felt or what it was like to be back, the female reporter from the local-news affiliate threw out a question that stopped me midstep, less than a foot from the front door.

“Kaylee, have you heard the news about Scott Carter? Does this latest development represent a setback for your recovery?”

“Don’t even look at her,” Sabine whispered as Nash said, “Just keep walking.”

“How do they even know he’s out?” I said when the front doors had closed behind us, careful that only Nash and Sabine could hear me. “What, did Avari hold a press conference?”

“I don’t know, but if I see him again, I’m going to expel the hellion by any means necessary,” Nash said. So far, the only means we knew of was to knock the host unconscious. “Maybe Scott can stay with me for a few days, so Baskerville can watch out for us both.”

Sabine didn’t look happy about sharing Nash with another houseguest, but he didn’t even notice. “I’ll see you both at lunch. I’m gonna go see if the nurse will give me some Tylenol.”

“I don’t think she treats hangovers,” I called after him, and when I turned to glance at Sabine, she was already walking off in the other direction.

At lunch, I went through the line and got a tray, because that’s what you do at lunch, and looking and acting normal had become a part of my job. I’d just sat down at my usual table and cracked the cap on my bottle of water when Luca came jogging up to my table. Instead of sitting, he leaned over with both hands flat on the table.

“Hey, I know we just met, but I need to ask you for a favor—” I said, but he interrupted me before I could ask him to find Thane again.

“I just saw Sophie crying, and I tried to find out what’s wrong, but she ran into the girls’ bathroom in the front hall. Can you go check on her?”

I have to admit, I hesitated. Sophie had turned on me more times than I could count, and even after she’d learned the family secret, she’d abandoned me to the wolves on my first day back at school. And the last time I’d followed my cousin into the bathroom, I’d found her shearing a beauty queen with a pair of pinking shears.

“Please,” Luca said, and I was surprised to realize he actually liked her. For real. Even more, he was worried about her.

“Fine. But if a beautiful blond reaper shows up while I’m gone, don’t freak out. That’s my boyfriend, Tod.”

Luca nodded, clearly confused, and I headed through the cafeteria and into the front hall, then pushed open the door to the girls’ restroom. The room looked empty, but someone was sniffling in the last stall.

“Sophie?”

The sniffling stopped. “Go away, Kaylee.” My cousin’s voice had that just-cried nasal quality, but lacked its usual hostile bite.

“What’s wrong?” I pushed open the last stall to find her perched on the edge of the toilet seat, her phone cradled in both hands.

“Like you care.”

“Why would I be here if I didn’t care?”

“I don’t know why you do half the things you do, Kaylee.”

I crossed both arms over my chest, rapidly losing patience. “Okay, this is your last chance to soak up some free sympathy and attention before I go tell Luca you’re throwing a fit over a broken nail.”

She blinked when I said Luca’s name, then her eyes filled with tears again. “Not that it’ll mean anything to you, but I just found out that Scott died yesterday, okay? How’s that for a broken nail? My ex, whom you got arrested, died in the mental hospital yesterday morning.”

My hands started to shake, and I had to concentrate to keep my heart from stopping. “That’s not possible,” I whispered as Scott’s face flashed behind my eyes, twisted into a sneer that was all Avari.

“Why? You think you’re the only one allowed to die around here? Not everything is about you, Kaylee Cavanaugh.”

“Are you sure he died at the hospital?”

Sophie set her phone in her lap to blot tears from her eyes with a thin square of toilet paper. “Yes, I’m sure. Where else would he be?”

“And you’re sure it was yesterday? Not this morning?” Tod and I had seen Scott since then. So had Nash.

“What is wrong with you?” my cousin demanded, frowning up at me through glittery mascara that had started to streak beneath her eyes. “You’re acting even weirder than usual.”

I snatched the phone from her lap and ignored her protest while I scanned the article she’d been reading. My horror grew with every word, and when I saw the picture attached to the article, I stopped breathing altogether. It was a shot of me, sitting in my chemistry class, clearly taken through the school window the day before.

The headline read Teen Returns to School the Day Her First Attacker Is Found Dead. The article went on to explain how, months before my math teacher tried to kill me, eighteen-year-old Scott William Carter was arrested and declared unfit to stand trial for attempting to commit the exact same crime. Scott, according to the article, was discovered dead in his bed at Lakeside Mental Health Center on Monday morning, during breakfast.

The article ended with the reporter wondering what it was about me that made people want to kill me. Then he called me a serial survivor.

The irony burned deep, deep inside.