Sisters Of Salt And Iron

(#ulink_c651095b-1080-58b2-bca0-d01bf54e9e75)

LARK

Wren had taken off with Casper the Friendly Douche a few hours earlier, and I hadn’t seen her since. It wasn’t like her to just disappear on me, which meant she was all twitterpated over Mr. Darcy. Noah. Whatever.

I was not jealous. I was, however, worried. What if this guy was a jerk? Wren didn’t know anything about relationships outside of TV and movies, and Noah had spent at least part of his existence among the living. Any guy that polished and pretty had to be a player as far as I was concerned.

I really wanted to be wrong, but something about him bothered me.

I was not—repeat—not jealous.

A few of us stuck around after the party to help clean up. It wasn’t a terribly late night. Mace and Ben volunteered to drive those who’d had too much Halloween “spirits” home.

Carrying a recyclable bag full of soda cans, I walked into the kitchen. Sarah and Kevin stood in front of the sink. He leaned back, slightly, as though trying to put as much distance between them as he could when she had him practically pinned between herself and the counter.

“He’s my friend,” Kevin said, his voice low, his hands gripping the edge of the sink behind him.

“What am I?” Sarah demanded.

Okay, I didn’t have to be a genius to figure out what was going on. “The friend’s girlfriend?” I volunteered. Was this any of my business? Nope. But Mace had saved my life, and had become a good friend. I felt strangely protective of him, and in the hierarchy of friends, both Kevin and Sarah were near the bottom of my list.

Sarah jumped back, putting several feet of distance between them. She looked pissed. Kevin looked guilty—and maybe a little relieved? Sarah must have seen that relief as well, because she made a noise of disgust and pivoted dramatically on her heel. She shot me a glare as she stomped past me and out of the kitchen. I raised a brow and said nothing.

I took the bag of cans over to the blue bin and set it inside before turning to look at Kevin. He was flushed. “Thanks.”

I tilted my head. “For what? Keeping you from becoming even more of a jerk?”

He laughed. I hadn’t expected that. He laughed so hard, his eyes watered. Or maybe those were tears. I couldn’t tell. He was a hot mess.

“Yeah,” he said with a nod as he wiped at his eyes. “For that.”

I never understood what Wren saw in him, but at that moment I felt bad for the guy. He looked really effed up.

“Do you really like her?” I asked, moving closer to him.

Kevin shrugged. “Not enough to lose Mace over her. He’s been my best friend since elementary school.” He swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Did Wren tell you about us?”

Both my brows shot up. “Wren knows?”

“Shit.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “She didn’t tell you that she saw us kissing?”

“Uh, no. Otherwise I would have taken you aside and kicked your ass long before this.” Wren was keeping all kinds of secrets, it seemed. Didn’t she trust me? Or did she just not want to hear what I might say? If she’d told me about Kevin and Sarah I would have shot my mouth off, and I would be the first to admit just how much of a bitch I could be.

Or worse, my sister had felt too awful to even talk about it—which really made me want to take a swing at him. No wonder she’d grabbed onto Mr. Darcy.

Folding his arms over his chest, Kevin looked me in the eye. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just wanted to connect with someone.” He laughed again. “God, I sound so pathetic, don’t I?”

I frowned. “No, not really.” And then, as the thought occurred to me, “You love my sister, don’t you?”

A look of horror washed over his face. “Is she still here?” He even glanced over his shoulder as though he expected to find her standing there.

“No, she’s gone.”

His shoulders slumped. “Good. Stupid, right? Not like we can ever be together.”

I shrugged. “Not until you’re dead.”

This time when he laughed, it seemed more out of a sense of amusement. “Something to look forward to.”

I smiled. “Sure.”

Kevin’s brows drew together. “Who was that guy she had with her? Do you know him?”

“You saw him?” It had taken Kevin a long time to be able to see Wren, and even then it had taken a lot of focus for both of them. It made sense, I guess, that with Halloween’s approach his abilities would sharpen.

“Yeah. He looked familiar. Who is he?”

“Noah,” I replied. “That’s all I know. I called him Mr. Darcy.”

He grinned. “You would. His clothes were more Victorian, though.”

“You’re splitting hairs, Sixth Sense.” He hated when I called him that. And when had he become a historical fashion expert? “If you don’t want to discuss your feelings for Wren with me, that’s cool.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I don’t see the point. You’ve figured me out, and talking about it just hurts. She hasn’t told you about this new guy?”

“No. I just met him tonight. I don’t think she’s known him long. She’s just thrilled to find a cute dead guy, I think.”

“I know him from somewhere, though.” His frown deepened. “You think he’s cute?”

Somehow, I managed not to laugh. I smiled, though. “I think she does, though my sister seems to have a thing for dark hair and blue eyes.” I didn’t mention that I actually thought Noah and Kevin looked a bit alike, because pining over a dead girl was no way to spend your life.

Kevin nodded. “Yeah. Anyway, thanks.”

“If you remember where you know Noah from, let me know, okay? Wren hasn’t been exactly chatty about him.”

“Sure.”

“Hey—” I felt the sudden need to change the subject “—you want some help taking this garbage out?” I knew from previous visits to the house that his parents put the recyclables and garbage in bins in a little shed out back to wait for pickup.

“Yeah, thanks.”

We each had two bags as we walked outside. Everything at the party had been disposable to cut down on dishes to wash—and to narrow the margin on dishes that idiots could break.

It was dark out and chilly. It had been a warm fall, but October nights in Connecticut were going to be cold, no matter how warm the day had been. I had my arms wrapped around myself as we hurried back to the house.

There was a guy standing right in front of the door, blocking our path. It took me a moment to realize he was a ghost—they looked as solid as real people to me for the most part, but there was a weird “feel” to them that I couldn’t quite explain.

This guy had been in his late twenties when he died. He had long shaggy hair and was wearing bell-bottoms. I was going to guess he died in the ’70s, and from the smell of patchouli, sweat and vomit that seemed to cling to him, I figured it had been an overdose that did him in. Although, he looked pretty clear-headed now. And angry. And all of that anger was staring at Kevin.