Wicked Kiss

I didn’t like Julie, but I never would have wished for something like this to happen to her.

It wasn’t right. Seventeen was way too young to die.

Jordan was in shock. She’d stopped talking and just started to tremble. I directed her away from the food court and into an alcove of the mall. She pressed her back up against the wall and called her father to come pick her up. She was in no shape to drive home.

I gave her the bottle of water I had in my leather bag. She took it from me with shaking hands and took a sip. She didn’t complain that it was room temperature.

“It’s my fault,” she said, her voice hollow and broken. “She was so happy about the modeling agent. I felt bad about Stephen so I had to bring her down. And—and this happened.”

She’d sunk down to the floor, her long legs pulled tight up against her chest. I braced my shoulder against the wall. My hunger swirled the longer I stayed in this busy mall, but I couldn’t just abandon her here. Not like this.

“It’s not your fault,” I assured her. But really, I didn’t know what had triggered Julie to end everything in such a horrible, final way. “Was she depressed? Like not just today, but maybe clinically depressed and on medication?”

“No.” She frowned. “I mean, I don’t think so. She never said anything to me.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I didn’t even know she was still into Colin. I should have known. She was my best friend.”

My heart clenched for her. “Is there anything I can do?”

Finally, this seemed to break through to her. Her brows drew together and she looked up at me through red, puffy eyes. Her perfectly applied makeup was only a memory now. Her gaze hardened. “It’s probably your fault this happened.”

I stepped back, my stomach souring. “You know I had nothing to do with that. I barely knew Julie.”

“You stole Stephen from me. And now my best friend is dead.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “Anything else you want to destroy today?”

My face burned from her words as if she’d struck me, but I refused to hit back. Not this time. “I’m sorry she’s gone, Jordan. I know how much you cared about her.”

There was nothing I could say to make it better. It looked like I could only make it worse by staying. So I left.

If I’d seen any signs of what was going to happen—what Julie was going to do—I would have done whatever it took to stop her. But as the moment played over and over in my mind on my way home, I couldn’t think of any clues to what triggered her mood change. One moment she was fine, the next she was suicidally depressed.

Like a switch had been flicked in her head.

Every time I closed my eyes I saw her falling over the side of the railing, like a song on repeat. Over and over.

Between Stephen’s chilling revelations of what was to come for grays, to eavesdropping on Bishop’s conversation about inconvenient addictions, to Julie’s suicide, I couldn’t deal with anything else right now. I especially couldn’t handle being around anyone who triggered my hunger.

I went directly home and locked the door behind me, dropping down to the floor, and finally released the sobs I’d been trying so hard to hold inside.

* * *

For the rest of the day, I did my best to avoid the world. It was my new hobby. It served me well for six hours of solitude. However, the pizza delivery guy had smelled much better than the pizza had, which was so unsettling I barely managed to eat more than half the pizza.

Mom called to say she’d arrived at her fabulous resort in Honolulu, and was going to start exploring immediately. Even long distance she sounded every bit as thrilled about her spontaneous trip as she had here. Angelic influence had some serious staying power. I missed her, but I told her to have a good time and not to worry about me.

After the call, I distractedly flipped through Catcher in the Rye, our current read in English. I’d read it before, so all I really had to do was refresh my memory.

It was late when Cassandra got back. The angel went directly to the refrigerator to get herself something to eat—more Chinese food leftovers.

From the kitchen doorway, I warily watched her prepare a plate. She looked over her shoulder at me, and her eyes narrowed.

“You didn’t tell me you kissed Bishop,” she said. There was accusation in her tone.

I cringed. “Good evening to you, too.”

She put her plate down and spun to face me, her eyes flashing with blue light. “Do you know how dangerous that was?”

Her words were harsh and unexpected. My eyes filled with tears.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her brows drawing together. She drew closer to me. “I’m sure you know it’s dangerous. I don’t have to tell you.”

“I didn’t know he had a soul at the time. Neither did he.” Not much of an excuse, but it was true.

Her frown remained as she studied me. “You’re upset.”

I inhaled shakily and ran my hand under my nose. “You could say that.”

“Why?”

“Oh, let me think.” I tried not to sound sarcastic, but failed. “I’m a soulless monster you and your buddies have the authority to knife in the heart at any given moment.” I chose not to share what I’d learned from Stephen—or even that I’d seen him. Not yet. And not with her. “Other than that, I—I witnessed somebody kill herself today.”

Her face blanched. “Kill herself?”