I toss and flip to my stomach, hiding my head beneath a pillow as thumping bass rattles my headboard. Why do the neighbors insist on blaring their music on the weekends?

Three raps at my door wake me further. “What?” I whine, my feet flailing like a kid having a temper tantrum.

“Hey, sleepyhead, you getting up?” Mom pops her head in.

“Sleepyhead?” I roll to my back, and my eyes focus on Mom’s jeans and sweater. “What time is it?” She typically sleeps until after lunch when she works nights. Why is she up this early? Even her blond hair is fixed in a no-fuss braid, instead of her usual work ponytail.

“It’s after noon. I thought we could go to lunch and do a little shopping today.”

After noon? I push up from the bed, and a wave of nausea hits me.

“I can’t believe you’re still sleeping. You’re usually the one waking me on Sundays. Did you and Zara stay out all night partying?” She steps farther into the room, no real accusation in her words. She knows us better than that, but . . . I clutch my stomach.

“Viv?” She’s across the room and pushing back my hair, the back of her hand on my forehead before I can blink. “Are you not feeling well?” She turns my face to hers. “You’re pale, but not feverish. You look tired.”

“I must have picked up a bug at school. I’m okay, just a little green.”

She leans in, her light eyes searching. “Well, shoot. We need to Christmas shop.”

“You go then. I can take care of myself.” Fear settles around me. I pull a pillow to my chest.

“I’ll shop tomorrow. How about I make my famous grilled cheeses and we find a good movie to watch?” She pats my knee as I nod. “I’ll start lunch.”

She crosses my room, grabbing a dirty cup from my dresser before turning. “You must have been tired to fall asleep in your clothes. You haven’t done that since you were six,” she says with a smile, pulling the door closed behind her.

My head spins, and I grab my hair to keep it in place. My clothes? I’m wearing jeans and a sweater. I bolt for my bathroom and lose the meager contents of my stomach.

We spend the afternoon watching movies on the couch. This is a normal Sunday for us, but everything feels wrong. I check my phone, re-reading the text I sent Zara last night:

Decided against going to the clinic. Went home instead, feeling okay but tired. Enjoy movie night and I’ll see you Monday.

I recall the Burger Bar. I have a vague memory of snow and being cold. A flash of fire—and nothing else. No memory of texting Zara. No memory of coming home. Mom laughs at a scene in our third romantic comedy, and I tuck my legs closer. My chest is empty, like something is missing. I close my eyes as they burn with tears. Whether from my raging headache or because of the gaping hole, I can’t be sure. What is going on with me?

* * *

By the time Zara arrives outside my apartment building Monday morning, I’ve run through every scenario imaginable. Maybe someone slipped drugs into my food Saturday night? Maybe I’m crazy. Maybe I’ve been sucked into some alternate universe, like in the last book I read.

“Your carriage, my lady,” Zara shouts through the open passenger side window as I lock the apartment and hurry to the car.

I toss my backpack over the seat and jump in. “You’re letting all the heat out.”

“Feeling better?” she asks as I buckle my seatbelt and get situated.

I consider confiding in her, then swiftly change my mind. What would I say? I keep seeing her standing beside me outside my apartment window, calling me paranoid. When was that? It must be recent, and yet I can’t recall. Nope. I can’t tell her.

“All better.” I switch the air vents to warm my gloved hands and change the subject. “Tell me about the movies.”

Zara gasps as she shifts into drive. “Girl. I finally confirmed it with my own two eyes. Graysin Ravenal and Everett Weston are dating.”

“I thought we’d already confirmed that.”

“It was rumor. Now we can mark it down as fact. They are so freaking gorgeous together. I kind of hate her. I want an Everett of my own.”

“Z, he’s gotta be pushing thirty.”

“Twenty-eight,” she corrects. “I think I need an older man. I’m sick of the boys we have to pick from at school. They’re ridiculous. Saturday night—” I bend over, re-tying the laces on my boots as Zara complains.  “—then a bunch of the guys from the football team started shoving each other and screwing around. I swear, they act like wild animals. How they get dates is beyond me.”

“They’re all tall, dark, and gorgeous.” Tossing my hair, I sit up and look out the front windshield.

Zara sighs. “Ain’t that the truth.”

I should remind her how she sat on the knee of one of those football players, flirting wildly during lunch Friday. My mouth opens to do just that when a dark figure captures my attention. We’re stopped at the light at Eighth and Main, and he’s leaning against the side of Pyntz Butcher Shoppe looking like sin—all pale skin, jet black hair, and dark clothing.

“Z, do you see him?” I grab Zara’s forearm, my gaze fixated on the guy. “Across the street.”

“Who? Mr. Emo?” The light changes, and we pull forward. “Isn’t that the guy from Saturday?” She squints as we turn onto Main with the traffic and pass a sidewalk width from him.

From Saturday? Vibrant blue eyes flash, and my stomach drops. Too afraid to turn in my seat, I check the side mirror. Sweat peppers my forehead as he watches us drive away. My body goes cold.

“He’s creepy.” I force my eyes to stop looking.

Zara pshaws. “Creepy? I thought you two were going to need a room after the way you stared each other down the other night. Then he disappeared and you left—” Zara inhales sharply, slapping her palm against the steering wheel. “You liar! You didn’t get sick, did you? You left with him.”

“What? No. Are you kidding? I don’t even know him.” I twist, looking for the stranger over my shoulder. It’s cold and not yet eight in the morning, making him easy to spot on the mostly vacant sidewalk.

“Well, he must be stalking you then, because that’s the guy from the other night. You should totally talk to him next time you see him. He’s hot.” Zara’s finger jabs my side as I watch the object of our conversation.

He walks quickly—too quickly. I do a double-take, surprised at how close he is. He removes his hand from the pocket of his long black coat, and my head fills with visions of him pulling a gun and shooting, like some gangster. Instead he lifts his hand to chest level and moves it from left to right. Strange, but nothing like a shootout.

Chiding my ridiculous imagination, I turn back to the front. “Z, I think I’m—”

“Watch out!” Zara screams. Her hands grip the steering wheel as the car jerks and skids along the ice-painted road.

Car horns blare, my seatbelt locks across my chest, and someone shouts, as a city tour bus stops, sideways, five feet from my door.

“You girls okay?” a voice asks, followed by tapping on the window. Words fail me. My body shakes. Zara’s curses fill the car, as do her thanks. “Vivienne? Zara?”

At the sound of my name, I look up and find Mr. Zander from school jiggling the handle to my door, his face concerned. My hand reaches forward and unlocks the car door, pushing as he pulls it open.

We’re an hour late for school by the time Sheriff Kasun finishes with us. No one was hurt, nothing damaged.

“I swear, Viv. Our light was green. The bus driver wasn’t paying attention.” Zara yanks the school door open, the heat welcoming after standing outside.  

“We’re fine. I’m not mad.” I check my watch. “Let’s hurry and get excuse slips. The bell’s about to ring.”

“You’re not mad, but I am. He could have killed you,” she says, her face still devoid of color as we walk toward the administration office. “How are you so calm? That bus barreling toward us won’t stop flashing through my mind. That’s my second near miss this semester! I’ll have nightmares for weeks, and you probably want to stop riding with me.”

I stop walking and push her to the edge of the hallway. “Look at me.” She does, and her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “That thing with Willa was all on her. Not your fault. Neither was this. We’re both safe. We’re safe, Z,” I repeat, hugging her as the class bell sounds. “Come on.”

We secure tardy slips from the office and head separate ways. I duck my head and attempt maneuvering the crowded halls of Havenwood Falls High without being stopped. A few students drove around our near-wreck this morning, their faces gawking like typical rubberneckers, which meant the whole school was aware before first period. Not in the mood for discussion, I slip into chemistry instead of hanging in the hall as I normally would. Three other students are already in their seats as I walk down my aisle.

Electricity shocks my wrist, and I gasp, twisting to find my arm in Breckin Roberts’ grip. My pulse accelerates.

“Sorry.” Breckin removes his hand, balling his fingers into a fist as he leans back and looks up at me. I stare as undecipherable whispers nag at the back of my mind. “Rumor has it you and Zara Shannon almost collided with a bus this morning. You okay?”

There’s an edge to his voice as his eyes search me from head to toe like he’s checking for injuries.

“I’m fine, thanks.” I drop my backpack to the floor and lower into my chair. What was that? Breckin and I have barely spoken since elementary school. He defended me from a few jerks in town freshman year, but other than that . . . The sensation of being watched crawls up my spine. The knowledge that Breckin’s eyes are fastened on my back sends me scooching down until my neck presses against the back of the chair and my butt hangs over the seat edge. Thank goodness I’m short.

I close my eyes and replay everything from this morning. Those blue eyes penetrate the thick layers of fog surrounding my mind. I know him. I do, but how?

More students walk into class, their laughter and conversations making me an outsider. A few people say hi. I offer vague smiles as the seats around me fill up.

“Hey, Viv. I saw Zara in the hallway. You two must have had a guardian angel watching over you this morning, huh?” Zal Purser asks as she tugs on the turquoise beads around her neck.

I half fall out of my desk, my heart rate accelerating as I lurch into a sitting position. “What did you say?” I ask, my voice unfamiliar to my own ears.

“I said you must have a guardian angel looking out for you.”

Angel. My head whips toward Breckin. He’s watching, his amber eyes narrow, his jaw tight. Guardian angel. Blue eyes. Angel, angel, angel . . .

Dark spots fill my vision. I sway in my seat, grasping at the edge of my desk, when a hard body presses against my shoulder and arms wrap around me.

Heat blows around my cheek. “Vivie?”    

Vivie. The lock unlatches, and memories rush in. The animal attack, the reaper, the bathroom at Burger Bar, Breckin’s kisses. I suck shallow breaths, recalling the danger, the warnings. The way the reaper waved a hand this morning and how a bus almost killed me.

“Breck!” I turn into his chest and grab his shirt. “It was him. The bus, this morning . . . I know it was.”

Then I see his hands at my waist as he lifts me onto a counter at his house and his smile as his lips descend on mine. My gasp is audible. Saturday night. He erased my memory?

Someone calls our teacher as Breckin rubs my arms and helps me stand, supporting most of my weight.

“Vivienne?” Heels click against the floor as she nears.

“I’ll take her to the office. She’s still freaked out about this morning,” Breckin offers, his voice take-charge and firm.

Breckin grabs my bag and escorts me from class. My eyes focus straight ahead, ignoring the curious glances, especially from friends. They’re probably wondering when Breckin Roberts and I became close enough for me to cling to him as though my life depends on it.

The hall is empty, the bell having already rung, but neither of us speaks as he ushers me down the corridor and around a corner, where he opens a door and pulls me inside. We’re in a janitor’s closet, the scent of bleach and bathroom soap overwhelming.

His back to me, he rubs his neck with an exhale as he leans forward and rests his forehead against the door. His hunter green thermal clings to his shoulders and back, and I stare, searching for the wings I now remember. He twists around, remaining against the door, his mouth tight as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Why?”

“Are you okay?”

I snort at his insane question. “Am I okay? Where should I start?” Breckin’s mouth opens, and I forge ahead. “We kissed. I thought it meant something, but you erased my memory—”

“Vivie?”

I look past the tenderness in his eyes and continue. “I mean, I suppose that’s no different than not getting a call back after a date, right? If you were human, I guess that’s what this would be—a one-time, never speak to me again hookup. One could argue you were doing me a favor. Taking away my memories is nicer than letting me linger over what happened.”

“That’s not what happened.” Anger flashes across his face as he steps away from the door.

I move, kicking a mop bucket of dirty water. “No? How often do you do this anyway? No wonder I’ve never heard tales of you with girls. Do you erase every idiot’s mind once you have a taste?”

His snarl, purely angelic, scares the hair straight up on my neck. “Vivienne.” He grabs my arms, and my back bumps into the shelves stocked with toilet paper and paper towels. Two rolls fall to the floor as Breckin presses close. “You are not an idiot, and I didn’t erase your memories. Didn’t you hear me Saturday night when I told you I was staking my claim? Yesterday was hell for me. And this morning—” His hands move to my face, holding me tight as his forehead touches mine. “When I heard about the accident, it took all my strength to stay away. I figured it would seem odd if I showed up.”

My hurt evaporates with his words. I grip his wrists. “I’m not supposed to remember you, am I?”

“You’re not.” Although his voice is serious, his lips tug into a smile.

“Who erased my memory, Breck?”

His mouth opens, then closes as he chooses his words. “Another angel.”

“The one you spoke to the other night?” He nods. “Why?”

“Because if we’re not careful, this will become about more than a reaper.”