I was afraid of.
Harmony waved an arm at the round breakfast table, and I pulled out a ladder-back chair with clear finish chipping off the back and one missing rung while she headed for the oven. The timer blinking above the stove was counting back with thirty-eight seconds to go, and it never failed to amaze me how Harmony always knew when it was about to go off. That timer had never once interrupted one of our lessons, and none of her treats had ever come out over-or underdone.
Unlike the cookies I’d baked two nights earlier.
“There’s soda in the fridge.” She slid her hand into a thick glove-shaped pot holder and pulled the oven door open.
“How ‘bout milk?” I like milk with my chocolate.
“Top shelf.” She pulled a glass pan of brownies from the oven and slid it onto a wire cooling rack on the counter. I took a short glass from the cabinet over the sink and filled it with milk, then sat at the table again while she poured one for herself.
“So, explain to me why I needed to learn to do that?” I sipped from my glass, suddenly grateful for cold, white milk, and all things normal and this-worldly.
Harmony shot me a sympathetic smile as she slid the carton onto the top shelf of the fridge, then swung the door shut. “It’s mostly to help you learn to control your wail. If you can manipulate it on your own terms, you should be able to avoid screaming your head off in front of a room full of humans.”
Because humans tend to lock up girls who can’t stop screaming. Trust me.
“But other than that, it’s helpful to be able to peek into the Netherworld when you need to. Though, I wouldn’t suggest trying it unless you have to. The less you’re noticed by Netherworlders, the easier your life will be.”
She’d get no argument from me on that one. But I was curious on one point….
“So … why were we alone?”
“While you were wailing?” Harmony crossed the linoleum toward me and pulled out the chair next to mine while I nodded. “Well, first of all, we weren’t really there. We were just peeking in. Like watching the bears at the zoo through that thick glass wall. You can see them and they can see you, but no one can cross the barrier.”
“So the Netherworlders could see us?”
“If anyone had been there, yes.” She sipped from her glass again.
“So how come no one was there?”
“Because this is a private residence. Those only exist on one plane or the other. Only large, public buildings with heavy traffic exist in both worlds.”
“Like the school?” I was thinking of all the weird creatures I’d seen when I peeked into the Netherworld from the gym, the day Emma died. “Or the mall?” That one brought even worse memories.
“Yeah. Schools, offices, museums, stadiums. Anywhere there are lots of people most of the time.”
I frowned and took another sip of my milk as a new worry occurred to me. “How would I actually go there?”
“You wouldn’t.” Harmony’s blue eyes were suddenly dark and hard, as if the sky had clouded over. They didn’t swirl, because she had more than eighty years’ experience hiding her emotions, but I could tell she was worried. “Kaylee, you have no business in the Netherworld.”
Let’s hope you’re right.
“I know.” I smiled to set her at ease. “I just want to make sure I don’t wind up there accidentally, practicing what I learned today.”
She relaxed at my explanation, and the light flowed back into her eyes. “You won’t. The difference between looking through the glass and stepping through it is all a matter of intent. You have to want to go there to be there.”
“That’s it?” I frowned as she stood and rummaged through a drawer, clanging silverware together in search of something. “Have desire, will travel?” It couldn’t be that easy. Or that scary.
“Well, that and the soul song.”
Of course. I felt the tension in my body ease, and I took another short sip of my milk, saving the rest to wash down my brownie.
Harmony finally pulled a knife from the drawer, followed by a long, thin metal spatula. She ran the knife across the glass dish, cutting the brownies into large, even squares.
“Harmony?”
“Hmm?” She slid the spatula under the first square and lifted it carefully out of the pan and onto a small paper plate. She liked baking but hated doing dishes.
“How can someone live without a soul?” “What?” Harmony froze with a brownie crumb halfway to her mouth, the spatula still in her other hand. “Why are you …? What’s going on, Kaylee?” Her eyes narrowed, and I felt guilty for making her worry.
I decided to tell her the truth. Part of it, anyway. “Nash and I saw Eden’s concert last night in Dallas, remember?”
“Of course.” Fear drained from her features again, and she scooped an extra-large brownie onto the second plate, then carried them both to the table, without forks. The Hudsons ate their brownies the proper way—with their fingers. My aunt would have thrown a fit, but I was enjoying being converted.
“I saw that on the news this morning.” She set one plate in front of me, then sank into her chair with the other, smaller square. Her eyes brightened as the next piece of the puzzle slid into place. “Are you saying Eden died without her soul?”
I nodded, then chewed, swallowed, and washed the first rich bite down with a sip of milk before answering. “It was weird. She dropped dead right there on the stage, but I thought she’d just passed out, because there was no premonition. No death shroud. No urge to wail. But Tod said she was dead, and sure enough, a few seconds later, this weird, dark stuff floated up from her body. Too dark and heavy-looking to be a soul.”
“Demon’s Breath, probably.” Harmony took another bite, licking a crumb from her lip before she chewed.
“That’s what Tod said.” I twisted my half-full glass of milk on the table. “That Eden sold her soul to a hellion.”
She shrugged and brushed a ringlet back from her forehead. “That’s the only explanation I can think of. A soul can’t be taken from a living being. It can be stolen after a person’s death—” or murder, as with Aunt Val’s victims “—or it can be given up willingly by its owner. But then something else has to take its place, to keep the body alive. Usually, that something else is Demon’s Breath.”
“But I thought a person’s soul is what determines his life span. If Eden’s was gone, how did the reapers know when she was supposed to die?”
Harmony held up one finger as she swallowed, and I bit another huge, unladylike bite from my brownie. She wiped her lips on a paper towel, already shaking her head. “A person’s soul doesn’t determine how long he or she lives. The list does.”
“So … where does the list come from? Who decides when everyone has to die?”
Harmony
