“Hello, Elle,” a voice says. I whirl around.
My first thought is that the demons have finally come for me.But instead of charred veins and curved horns, standing in the living room is a dark-haired boy in a three-piece suit.
He pulls at the cuffs of his sleeves and straightens his tie. The flicker of the candlelight throws the angles of his face into harsh contrast as he grins wolfishly.
“You’re a hard woman tofind.”
TheEncounter
Five
I was six the first time my parents took me to the Afterlife. That may seem young to be introduced to death, but the whole process is easier to accept when you’re a kid. To a six-year-old, it was almost like dreaming. I would fall asleep and wake in a world with magic. And if that wasn’t enough to get me excited about fake dying, I also got to take that magic back with me when I woke up.
When you first start going to the Afterlife, the magic that sticks to you is minimal. Maybe you find parking spots more easily or water boils faster or you win a few bucks playing scratch-off. Nothing that can’t be chalked up to luck. But the more your soul absorbs in the Afterlife, the more you, yourself, becomemagic.
There are two ways to get magic from the Afterlife. You can inherit it from a Titan ancestor, blessed with magic from birth but cursed to only be able to do one type of magic (like in CJ’s case: telempathy), or you can get the magic from the Afterlife yourself and just develop your talents. Not everyone is good at every type of magic. Just like not everyone is good at every sport or can play every instrument.
From the ages of six to fourteen, I was in and out of the Afterlife, doing jobs with my parents and brother several times a week. So you would think I’d have a lot of magic.
You would be wrong.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t manage even the most basic spell. I’ve only ever done magic successfullyonce, and even that didn’t turn out as intended.
So when a strange boy appears in my house late at night, my only defenses are what few physical resources I have on hand.
I hurl the lit candle at him.
By some miracle, it hits him, and he curses in shock. As the candlethunks at his feet, he briefly looks down, and I use the distraction to tackle him.
For a second, he doesn’t fight back, and I think this is going to be easy. He’s wearing a three-piece suit that’s obviously been tailored to him specifically. He’s tall but thin, with porcelain skin and dark,perfecthair. I mean…What I’m saying is I doubt this guy has done much brawling in his life. But then he pushes me off, and I realize he’s stronger than he looks.
Before he can attack, I take him out at the knees, then scramble to keep him pinned down.
“What are you doing?” he snaps, as though he can’t believe someone would dare touch him.
“What amIdoing?” I cry, climbing on top of him and restraining his hands. “This ismyhouse. What areyoudoing?”
I feel his abs clench under me, and suddenly I’m tumbling ass over head as he does this weird backflip thing, sending me flying.
“If you’d stop attacking me, I’d tell you!”
I’ve landed near a pile of junk destined for Goodwill with a Swiffer WetJet on top. I grab it and hold it out in front of me like a sword. And before you ask: Yes, I’m aware that the candle has caught the floor on fire, but I’ll take care of that in a minute. Priorities and all that.
The stranger smirks, a single eyebrow raising, and I’m going to be honest, it’s a look he pulls off pretty well.
I dart forward and jam the end of the handle into his abs.
Heoofs and doubles over. The next time I attack, I go for the back of his head, but this time he takesmeout at the knees. I manage to grab on to the back of his jacket and yank it over his head as we go down. As he struggles to get out of it, I grab random things and start throwing.
Old encyclopedia.
Rusted candlestick.
Paperweight.
He lets out a little “ow” as each one hits him, and by the time he’s pulled his head and arms out of his jacket, his hair is no longer perfect and his face is red.
“Will you stop attacking me?” he yells through labored breaths. “I’m trying to hire you for a job, you unholy terror!”
