Chapter Nine

The Rosary and the Revenant

I stalk up to Soren, not bothering to feel afraid. Grabbing him by the shoulders, I force him to face me. “You need to tell me what these shadow walkers are, now,” I hiss.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks grimly, tossing the most furtive of looks at the students milling about the banquet hall, wary of my potential theatrics.

“The shadow walker that just got in my face and said very creepy and non-consensual things about my skin.”

“Did you look him in the eye? Acknowledge him?”

My nostrils flare. Setting my jaw at a stubborn angle, I refuse to answer. The sensation of the shadow walker’s breath crawls against my skin, making me shiver with disgust.

Soren doesn’t need my answer to know I didn’t heed his single warning. Shaking his head as if he’s disappointed in me, he sighs, and I give him my rage eyes. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”

“Have Winters meet me at midnight, then. I’ll tell her what she needs to know.”

“We’re not going to meet you.”

“Whether or not you come is irrelevant. I only need Winters.”

I bristle at this insult. “Sabbath isn’t going anywhere without me, least of all near you. So, you’ll tell me now, Soren Cain. What the hell is a shadow walker, and what does it want?”

Soren steps closer, and the low note of his voice—the broadness of his sudden nearness—intimidates me enough that I take a small step back. “Shadow walkers want to inhabit your body in order to gain physical form, and seeing them is the first step,” he reveals, his voice low and dangerous. “So, if you plan to avoid shadow walkers in your future, I suggest you convince your friend to strike that deal. Mick.”

“It’s Mika.”

“Right.”

I glower up at him as if he’s not a whole head and a half taller than me. This guy totally knows my name, he’s just egging me on.

Soren’s breath whips across my face as his shape hangs over me, blood beating my cheeks hot with fury. My hands curl into fists, magic nipping at my fingertips. For a moment, it occurs to me that my temper has ignited something. My mother’s madness comes to mind, the thought streaking through my head, and quickly disappearing—

Because with Soren Cain this close, all I can think about is how sharp and masculine his jawline is, and how much I want to land a punch in it. I have never felt this passionately about anyone in my whole life.

He turns abruptly, stalking off like the conversation is over, and I, unfortunately, lose my best shot at assaulting him.

“Hey!” I shout after him, and feel a few heads turn in my direction, but I’m too furious to even care about causing a scene. “You owe me more than that!”

“Then, I expect I’ll see you tomorrow.” His voice is suspiciously low after my disruptive volume, masked behind the murmurs and chink of dinner, but I hear him clearly just the same.

“We have detention,” I bark back. Great defense, Mika.

Soren raises a single brow. “I guess you’ll have to figure it out, then.”

Dumbfounded, I stand there while he glides away, totally indifferent to the cost of his rejection. There are a million more things I want to scream in his face, but I can’t say anything else without drawing more attention to myself than I already have. Instead, I watch him strut over to Amandine, who casts a suspicious dirty look in my direction.

“Detention, eh?”

I turn with a huff, to find Enzo has slid into my peripheral vision.

He loops an arm around my waist, pulling me in lazily for a peck on the cheek. “What’d ya do?”

Now is my moment. Time to fess up. I died, Enz… But Enzo’s smile is too preoccupied right now, and I don’t really want to tell him anyway. “It’s a long story. Do you wanna hang out tomorrow, before I have to go to detention?”

I hate how hopeful my voice sounds. Just like my body, my resolve is also fading. It’s not great, this whole not-knowing-where-I-stand-in-my-relationship thing. We’re half a day into the new year, and I’m already exhausted by my problems.

Hanging out with Enzo is just the sort of thoughtless activity I need. I already feel high just by proximity.

“Ah, I’m sorry Meeks,” he pouts. “I’m meeting up with Amandine and Allen tomorrow night. We just found out that Spellfall has the ascension drupe growing somewhere on the grounds. Would make a savage party potion.”

As if cued, Amandine titters from her table, where Soren is watching her. He has a smile plastered on his face, but I’m relieved to see it doesn’t look particularly real. Amandine’s eyes drop longingly to his lips but I turn back to Enzo, disgust twisting in my stomach.

Why is it that Amandine has every boy wrapped around her finger? I mean, logically, I get it. She’s very thin and very French. She’s an incorrigible flirt, smells like daffodils, and touts her affluence.

So, fine. But really? It’s just so predictable.

At least Amandine isn’t looking at Enzo the way she looks at Soren Cain. I sigh. “Okay, no worries, Enz. I’ll see you... later, then.”

“Yes, later. Soon.”

“Sooner rather than later?”

“Yes.” Enzo gives me that lopsided grin that made me fall for him. “Maybe.” Then with a quick pat on my back, he wanders off. I already know it will be a lot later than I need.

* * *

“How do you feel?” Sabbath asks that night, giving me a once-over.

She’s burrowed up in the little window seat of our room, after returning from her first shift at the Enchanted Comet, Spellfall’s resident coffeehouse. Her unruly curls are more ferocious than usual, and the dark coils bounce as she turns to me.

I raise a dubious brow. “How do I look?”

“Alive, verging on dead.”

“That’s how I feel.” I slip down into the window seat next to her. I’ve just caught my reflection on the way in, and I really am looking pretty dire. I’m shocked Enzo didn’t say anything to me. My skin looks like it hasn’t seen the sunlight in three years, my eyes are shadowed by a bruise-like color, and my lips are a flattering shade of corpse. The glamor mitigates it some, but the rollercoaster toward the spirit realm is clearly moving faster than our seventh year charm skills can keep up with it.

“A glamor isn’t going to work for much longer, and then everyone’s going to see I’m undead.”

“Or, they just won’t see you at all,” she comments.

“What happened?” I gesture at Sab’s lap, where she clutches the rosary beads she uses to pray almost every day.

Holding her hand up, she drops the chain and I see that the loop has snapped. “I forgot to pray yesterday and, well, I found it like this in my drawer this morning.” She gathers the wooden beads back into careful fingers with a disappointed sigh. The relic has been passed down in her family for generations, entrusted to her by her favorite grandmother.

“Omens, Sab. I’m sorry! Do you think it broke during the séance, somehow?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs despondently. “I mean. It’s really old.”

Do you think it’s a sign? I know better than to say this out loud. It will only send her spiraling into self-doubt and guilt, neither of which are conducive mindsets for her particular brand of inhibition. “It probably just wore out,” I reassure her. “Will it mess up your prayers, though?”

She shakes her head. “Oh, no. It helps me remember the Rosary, but mostly it was just special. It’s okay. Anyway.” Sabbath tucks the beads away and slides something over the mountain of my folded knees. “Look what they gave us today in Intro to the Undead. It’s a handbook for all the things that can happen after you die.”

“Great, where’s me?” I gingerly flip open the leaflet with the macabre skull inked on the front, bolded categories flying up at me from the pages: vampires, spirits, ghosts, ghouls, poltergeists...

“I don’t think I’m any of these things. Yet. Ah! Here!” I smack my pointer finger down on the page. “Revenant.”

Leaning over, Sab peers down at the backward description.

“‘Revenant is an all-encompassing term, for one who has returned to life from any cause of death in which the soul has left the body.’” I read aloud for her. “’It is not to be confused with the assortment of creatures who exist under the category of undead. Revenants are categorized particularly by their ability to resume the life they had prior to their death, with little to no side effects or consequences.’ Ha! Yeah right!”

“Shadow walkers aren’t in there,” Sabbath adds regretfully. “I already checked. But, actually, there’s a book on the shelf—can you get it for me? It’s called Death and Dying.”

Fun fact: One of the first ideas that sparked Spellfall was the idea of a religiously conflicted witch. I generally avoid mixing present day religion with the world building of my fantasy stories, but this quickly became so integral to Sab's character that I had to take the risk! Do you like present day religion/religious themes to mix in with your fantasy reads, or do you prefer them to stay separate? *Introduces HOT TOPIC and flees*

xx Jessa

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