Hereafter (Shadowlands 2)

“So…uh…what brings you here?” I asked, then immediately regretted it. He had no idea what had brought him here. He didn’t even know what here really was.

“I had to get away from my family,” he said, looking away.

“How come?” I asked.

His eyes flashed. “You always ask so many questions?”

My face burned. “Sorry. I just…forget it.” And Darcy wondered why I hated parties.

“Not everyone has parents who like them,” Brian said tersely.

“I know,” I replied, my voice thick. “For a long time I didn’t think my dad liked me. All he’s done for the past four years is bitch at me and my sister, so—”

“I bet he never threw you out of your own house.”

He tossed back the rest of his beer and dropped the heavy mug on the bar like a punctuation mark.

My heart broke for him. “That’s…Brian, I’m so sorry.”

Brian leaned forward and rubbed his palms together. His fingers were dirty, the cracks in his knuckles dark with grime.

“Yep. Nothing was ever good enough for them. I graduated, got a job in a garage…but it still wasn’t enough, so…” He shook his head and shrugged. “Anyway, it’s okay, because now…I’m free.”

He spread his arms wide and smiled. There was a gap between his front teeth that gave him a charming, boyish look.

“I guess there’s always a bright side,” I said, forcing a smile. He had no idea just how “free” he was.

He pressed his lips together, considering this. “Always a bright side,” he said. “I like that.”

A relieved smile crossed my face. Finally, I’d said something right. A pack of raucous guys in the corner erupted in a cacophonous round of jeers and shouts. Brian winced.

“This isn’t really my scene. You want to get out of here for a bit? Go for a walk by the water?” he asked, grazing the center of my back with his hand.

As soon as he touched me, I felt a spark, like static electricity, only sharper—hotter. My back felt prickly even after he dropped his hand—like my skin was vibrating—and a flutter of anticipation sprung up inside my chest. Maybe this was it. Maybe I was about to usher my first soul. I glanced around for Tristan again, but he was still nowhere to be found.

Then I had a thought, an inkling, a suspicion. Maybe this was how they trained the new Lifers. Maybe this was why Tristan hadn’t shown up. I was being thrown into the deep end of the pool on my first day so they could see how I’d react, how I’d handle it. There was a familiar rush inside my chest. The feeling of rising to a challenge. The anticipation of making Tristan proud.

“Sure,” I said, sliding off my stool. “This isn’t really my scene, either.”

Brian smiled and grabbed his rucksack, which had been leaning against the wall. He lifted the strap over his shoulder as he stepped aside to let me walk out first. When I crossed in front of him, I had to bite back a grin.

This was it. My first ushering. My new life was about to begin.

The calm bay water lapped at the sand lazily, thinning out and sloshing back at an even rhythm. Brian kicked at broken seashells, their pale fragments gleaming against the sand, and sighed. Gray clouds flitted across the bright moon, and each breeze seemed cooler than the last. I flipped up the collar on my thin jacket, ducking my chin down deep.

Someone whistled in the dark—a slow, mournful tune—and I shivered. My eyes darted to the black waves; I was half expecting Mr. Nell to rise up out of the bay and drag me under. But instead I saw something gleaming in the moonlight, a long black splotch with a silver streak. I took a tentative step forward and my stomach turned. It was a pile of fish. Dozens of black and silver fish, all washed up on the shore, eyes fogged over. Dead. The whistling grew louder. I froze.

“What’s wrong?” Brian asked.

“Do you hear that?” I hissed, my heart pounding as I whirled around. “Do you—”

A shadowy figure appeared on the boardwalk, and I clutched Brian’s arm. A moment later, the whistler strolled under one of the lights outside the Crab Shack, illuminating the face of one of the Lifers—the guy I’d never met who’d been loitering in the corner of the basement this morning with Mohawk Girl and another nameless female. Relief flooded my body. He stopped momentarily when he saw us, and his whistling ceased. He wore a black sweatshirt with the hood up over his reddish hair, and his pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held mine for several long breaths. Finally, he kept on walking, his heavy black boots crunching on the sandy slats of the boardwalk.

Brian and I

both watched until the guy stepped out of sight. Then Brian looked down at my hand, still gripping his arm. Embarrassed, I released him and tucked my hands into my pockets.

“Sorry,” I said.