My Soul to Save. Rachel Vincent
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SOLD HER SOUL.” Tod’s voice sounded odd. Distant. I think he was in shock. Or maybe that was just an echo from the empty hallway.
If a voice isn’t audible in the human range of hearing, can it echo?
“Um, yeah. Sounds like it,” I said. The very thought sent chills through me, and I rubbed my arms through my sleeves, trying to get rid of the goose bumps.
“She’s gonna kill herself.” Tod’s eyes were wide with panic and horror. I’d never seen him scared, and I didn’t like how fear pressed his lips into a tense, thin line and wrinkled his forehead. “We have to stop her. Warn her, or something.” Tod took off down the hall, and Nash and I ran after him. If we didn’t keep up, he’d disappear through a wall or something, and we’d never find him. At least, not in time to finish arguing with him.
“Warn her of what? That she’s going to kill herself?” Nash’s shoes squeaked as we rounded a corner. “Don’t you think she already knows that?”
“Maybe not.” Tod stopped when the hallway ended in a T, glancing both ways in indecision. “Maybe whatever’s supposed to drive her to suicide hasn’t happened yet.” He looked to the left again, then took off toward the right.
“Wait!” I lunged forward and grabbed his arm, relieved when my hand didn’t pass right through him. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“No clue.” He shrugged, looking more like his brother in that moment than ever before. “I know where her dressing room is, but I don’t know how to get there from here, and I can’t just pop in without losing you two.”
I didn’t want to know how he knew where her dressing room was, but considering how often he’d gone invisible to spy on me, the answer seemed obvious.
“Yeah, physics is a real bitch.” Nash rolled his beautiful hazel eyes and leaned with one shoulder against the wall like he had nowhere better to be.
“You don’t have to wait for us.” As cool as it would have been to meet Addison Page, telling a rising star that she was going to end both her career and her life in less than a week was so not on my to-do list. “I think I’m going to sit this one out.” I propped my hands on my hips and glanced at Nash to see if he was with me, but he and Tod wore identical, half amused, half reluctant expressions. “What?”
“I’m dead, Kaylee.” Tod stopped in front of the first door we’d come to, his hand on the knob. “Addy came to my funeral. I can’t show up in her dressing room two years after I was buried and tell her not to kill herself. That would just be rude.”
I laughed at his idea of post-death etiquette, pretty sure that “rude” was a bit of an understatement. But I sobered quickly when his point sank in. “Wait, you want us to tell her?”
“If she sees me, she’ll freak out and spend the last days of her life in the psych ward.”
I bristled, irritated by the reminder of my own brief stay in the land of sedatives and straitjackets. “It’s called the mental health unit, thank you. And we are not going to go tell your famous ex-girlfriend to lighten up or she’ll be joining you six feet under. That would be rude.”
“She wouldn’t believe us, anyway,” Nash said, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of solidarity. “She’d probably call Security and have us arrested.”
“So make her believe you.” Tod gestured in exasperation. Like it’d be that easy. “I’ll be there to help. She just won’t be able to see me.”
I glanced at Nash and was relieved to see my reluctance still reflected in his features. As much as I wanted to help—to hopefully save Addison Page’s life—I did not want to be taken from her dressing room in handcuffs.
And my dad would be soooo pissed if he had to bail me out of jail.
But before I could even contemplate how bad that would be, something else sank in….
“Tod, wait a minute.” He let go of the knob when I stepped between him and the door, but his oddly angelic frown said he wasn’t happy about it. “How do we know this will even work? I mean, say she believes us and decides not to kill herself. Won’t she just die of some other cause next week, at the same time she would have killed herself? If her name’s really on the list, she’s going to die one way or another, right? You can’t stop Libby from coming for her, and frankly, I think you’d be an idiot to even try.”
Nash and Tod had explained to me how the whole death business works right after I found out I was a bean sidhe, during the single most stressful week of my life. Evidently people come with expiration dates stamped on them at birth—much like food in the grocery store. It was the reapers’ job to enforce that expiration date, then collect the dead person’s soul and take it to be recycled.
As far as I knew, the only way to extend a person’s life was to exchange his or her death date for someone else’s, to keep life and death in balance. So if we saved Addison Page’s life—which, as bean sidhes, Nash and I could technically do—someone else would have to die in her place, and that someone could be anyone. Me or Nash, or some random, nearby stranger.
As much as I wanted to help both Tod and Addison, I was not willing to pay that price, nor would I ask someone else to.
Tod blinked at me, and while his scowl remained in place, his sad eyes revealed the truth. “I know.” He sighed, and his broad shoulders fell with the movement. “But I haven’t actually seen the list yet, so I’m not going to worry about that right now. What I am going to do is try to talk her out of suicide. But I need help. Please, guys.” His gaze trailed from me to Nash, then back.
Nash frowned and leaned against the wall beside the door again, striking the I-cannot-be-moved posture I recognized from several of our own past arguments. “Tod, you’re the one who says it’s dangerous for bean sidhes to mess in reaper business.”
“And that knowing when they’re going to die only makes a human’s last days miserable,” I added, perversely pleased by the chance to throw his own words back at him.
Tod shrugged. “I know, but this is different.”
“Why?” Nash demanded, his gaze going hard as he glared at Tod. “Because this time it’s an ex? One you’ve obviously never gotten over …”
Anger flashed across the reaper’s face, mirroring his brother’s, but beneath it lay a foundation of pain and vulnerability even he could not hide. “This is different because she sold her soul, Nash. You know what that means.”
Nash’s eyes closed for a moment, and he inhaled deeply. When he met Tod’s gaze again, his held more sympathy than anger. “That was her choice.”
“She didn’t know what she was getting into! She couldn’t have!” the reaper shouted, and I was floored by the depth of his anger and frustration. I’d never seen him put so much raw emotion on display.
“What was she getting into?” I glanced from brother to brother and crossed my own arms, waiting for an answer. I hate always being the clueless one.
Finally Nash sighed and turned his attention to me. “She sold her soul to a hellion, but he won’t have full use of it until she dies. When she does, her soul is his for eternity. Forever. He can do whatever he wants with it, but since hellions feed on pain and chaos, he’ll probably torture Addison’s soul—and thus what remains of Addison—until the end of time. Or the end of the Netherworld. Whichever comes first.”
My stomach churned around the dinner we’d grabbed before the concert, threatening to send the burger back up. “Is that what happened to the souls Aunt Val traded to Belphegore?” Nash nodded grimly, and horror drew my hands into cold, damp fists. “But that’s not fair. Those girls did nothing wrong, and now their souls are going to be tortured for all of eternity? “
“That’s why soul-poaching is illegal.” Tod’s voice was soft