Soul Crossed (2 page)

“Yes, Joshua. I am. So let’s get started on your training. The task I have for you cannot be underestimated.”

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to focus. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I need you to secure a soul for me. A very important soul.
The
soul.”

“THE soul?” I repeat.

Lucifer stands, tugging on his suit jacket, which hasn’t moved an inch out of place. “There is a soul on the brink. You need to push it over the edge, so that the prophecies can finally come to pass.”

“Prophecies?”

“The time I’ve been waiting for for millennia. My time.”

I try to shake off some of the cloudiness in my brain and put the beer back in the cup-holder. “You mean, like Armageddon?”

He smiles, crimson eyes dancing with tiny flames, and I find myself burrowing further into the leather. “Yes. Something like that.”

“So…you want me to find the Antichrist?” I ask, waiting for him to tell me there’s no such thing. That shit can’t be real. Even though, somehow,
this
shit is real.

“Oh, I’ve already found the likely candidate. You just have to make sure he gives into his true nature. It should be easy for you. Simply give him a taste of the finer things in life, and let him know there’s nothing wrong with taking what he wants. You know all about that.”

I swallow. My mouth is suddenly dry. “So…it’s all real? I mean, the Bible—”

Lucifer laughs, which sends more chills down the back of my neck. I shake it off.

“Human belief is real, Joshua. When that belief is strong enough and pure enough, it becomes real.”

I’m having trouble following, and I guess my face gives it away because Lucifer scoots closer and changes the subject.

“The point is that you must claim his soul for me. I’ll worry about the rest. You’ll find your powers make it even easier.” He snaps and suddenly I’m stumbling next to him, back in the no-man’s land where we first met. This time there’s someone else there, too. A girl. She’s about my age, and she’s sobbing, snot running down an otherwise pretty face as she clutches her arms around herself.

“Test subject number one,” Lucifer says. “Make her stop crying.”

“But how?” I ask. I’m usually good at getting girls to do what I want, but she doesn’t look like she’s in the mood.

“Glamour. Make eye contact, and focus with your mind. Simply will the human to do what you want.”

Will
? OK. I step toward the girl, who looks like she’s about to run, so I stop a few feet away and put out a hand. “Hey, it’s OK. Don’t be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you. Just look at me, OK?”

She glances up with glassy dark eyes, and that’s enough. I feel it. I feel the connection and once it’s there, she’s caught like a fly in a web.

“Stop crying.”

The tears cease, as does the shaking.

“Whoa. That was amazing.”
Better than a buzz
.

Lucifer gestures to the girl, who now watches me, wiping at her face with an arm. “What’s your name?” I ask.

“Amber,” she says.

“Why are you here?” I ask.

“I hurt people and stole to pay for drugs.” She opens her arms, and I see the needle tracks of a heroin addict. They’re the same as the ones etched in my dad last time I saw him. Before my drunken bender. Too bad he’s not the one here instead.

I feel sick.

“She deserves punishment, don’t you think, Joshua?” Lucifer whispers over my shoulder. “Tell her to keep walking until she finds water. Tell her she’s thirsty.”

I remember the lemonade he offered me when I arrived and how amazing it felt. I hesitate.

“Do it.”

Blue flame bursts out of Lucifer’s hand as I turn, I throw my arms over my face. The pain forces me to my knees. I’m sure my skin is now made of white hot blisters, but before I finish my first scream, it’s stopped. No more pain. No sign of as much as a sunburn on my arms.

I guess I’m taking too long.

“You’re thirsty,” I say, standing and catching Amber’s eyes again, my voice shaky. “Really thirsty. And you need to keep walking until you find water.”

She tugs at her throat and stumbles off into the distance without another word while Lucifer hands me a lemonade.

“Next is strength training,” he says.

She’s in Hell, I tell myself. She was going to suffer anyway, whether I was the one to do it or not.

Ms. Alvarez apparently lives in a classroom, complete with a teacher’s desk, a Smart Board, and one empty desk for her class.

Me.

I’m sure it’s not always a classroom. That’s probably for my benefit. It’s easy to refurnish. I know because I have a room of my own. All I have to do is want something bad enough, and it will change.

I tried out a few things. First, I recreated the party Emily and I went to the night I died. But as much as I’ve always loved moving to the music, it was too weird staring at an empty house. Without the people to fill it, it only felt cold and creepy. Then I tried my favorite spot in the library, but as much as I adore getting lost in a book, I couldn’t stop thinking about everything I’ve lost.

So now it’s just like my bedroom at home. A small rectangular room with a twin bed, desk, dresser, and mirror. The walls and comforter are covered in roses. I know it can be bigger, but I don’t care. This way I can pretend I’m still there and instead of Ms. Alvarez, it’s my brother down the hall, or my mom and dad.

But most of my time is spent in the classroom, learning how to save souls and use my new Angelic Powers for good. I admit it’s neat to know that I’m kind of like a superhero, with my enhanced strength and magnetism, but the truth is I don’t like too much attention, so I’m kind of worried about how much others will be drawn to me.

And the whole glamour thing? That’s downright frightening. What if I accidentally tell someone to do something dangerous? That’s where “responsibility” comes in, according to Ms. A. She reminds me constantly that I’ve been chosen to be an Angel and wouldn’t have that opportunity if I wasn’t capable of handling it.

That doesn’t make me feel any more confident.

“Your tea’s getting cold, dear,” she says, and pinches my cheek. I don’t know which I hate more, the cheek thing or the tea.

I shudder slightly, and when she’s not looking I will away the tea so it looks like I drank it. I have to remind myself that she’s doing her best, and it isn’t her fault I died.

“So, how do I know which soul needs saving?” I ask.

“Excellent question. You will be assigned a soul on the cusp, and you lead them toward the light.”

Ms. A is full of clichés like that. Apparently she was a staunch Catholic in life and clearly feels Heaven was her reward. She makes no comment on the fact that my family was Presbyterian and not all that religious, and I still ended up here.

A knock on the door startles me. I was starting to think we were alone for all eternity.

Ms. A straightens up as she smoothes back her curly hair and calls in a too-high voice, “Come in.”

In strides a man of about six feet, with smooth ebony skin and a bald head. His eyes are like hot chocolate, and they warm my insides the moment they catch mine. I feel my melancholy mood vanish, replaced by a genuine smile that the man returns.

“Mr. Griffith. So good to see you. Please, have a seat.”

A large, padded chair appears next to me, but turns into a desk just like mine as he sits. “And you must be Grace,” he says, in a deep, melodic voice.

“Yes, sir.”

“And how are you doing, Grace? You’ve been through quite an ordeal. It isn’t easy to transition, especially when you aren’t prepared and so very young.”

The sorrow I’ve stuffed down inside threatens to pop to the surface as he stares intently at me. I long to throw myself into his arms and cry, but that’s ridiculous—he’s barely said hello, Angel or not.

“She’s doing a marvelous job.” Ms. A swoops in, squeezing between us. “She’s a special girl, Mr. Griffith. She’ll be ready for her first assignment soon.”

“And are you certain this is the right assignment?” Mr. Griffith asks.

“Absolutely.” Ms. A straightens to her full height, which isn’t that tall. “I have full faith in her. She’s been an exemplary student.”

That’s the kind of student I was in life. Straight A’s. Always made curfew. Never did drugs or drank or smoked. Yet here I am.

Dead.

“I don’t doubt it,” Mr. Griffith says, bringing me back to the present. “But if you need help, Grace, don’t be afraid to ask. There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“Thank you,” I say. “I will.”

“Now, just pretend I’m not here.” Mr. Griffith leans back in his seat and winks at me.

Ms. A clears her throat and walks back around to the other side of her desk. “This is your assignment, Grace. His name is Camden.” She swirls a hand through the air between us and an image appears inside.

It’s a boy, probably close to my age. He’s in a hallway filled with lockers and students. But I notice that the others seem to give him a wide berth, almost like there’s an invisible bubble of about twenty feet surrounding him. He’s standing with his head down, hair hanging over his eyes.

“Why do they do that?” I ask, angry at the others for avoiding the poor guy like that.

“It’s their subconscious,” Ms. A says. “They sense the evil within him, though they don’t really understand what it is.”

“Evil?” I may be in Heaven, but I still don’t know if I buy the whole “some people are born evil” thing.

“The propensity for evil,” Mr. Griffith says softly. So softly that maybe Ms. A doesn’t hear.

“Inside this boy,” Ms. A. says, “is the ability to destroy everything you know on Earth. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can save him, Grace. You can save the world.”

No pressure, then.

I lean back against the locker, enjoying the feel of the smooth, cold metal against my back. Michigan isn’t all that different than Seattle. The same groups of kids, separated like oil from water: the jocks, the nerds, the cheerleaders, the goths.

Several girls are checking me out from the other end of the hall. I know this because of my new, enhanced senses. I can see over forty feet away. I also have super strength, the glamour, and enhanced emotions, though I’m still not sure why that last one’s a good thing. Despite my doubts, everything is vibrant and intense, and I’m enjoying the feeling of power. If I’d felt like this when I was alive, I might’ve avoided taking the edge off and things could have ended differently.

That’s when I see him—the sophomore I’ve been looking for. He’s just rushed in, head down, long dark hair swinging in his face, books clutched to his chest like a life-preserver. I’m surprised he doesn’t bump into anyone with his face obscured that way, but the other students seem to give him a wide berth like he’s contagious. This should be a piece of cake.

I wait for the first bell to ring, wait for everyone to clear out of the hall before approaching him so it is just the two of us.

“Hey,” I say. He looks up, wide-eyed, like a rat caught in the kitchen.

“Uh, hi,” he says, and flicks the hair away from his face. He’s not a bad looking kid. I wonder how he became such a loner.

“My name’s Josh. Nice to meet you.” I stick out my hand. He hesitates, small eyes narrowing, sizing me up. I fight off a shiver and nearly laugh because what does a Demon need to be scared of? He’s half my size, and he’s probably just trying to figure out if I’m going to prank him or beat him up. I wait ’til he’s ready, then shake his sweaty hand and do my best not to wipe my palm afterward. “You need some help finding classes?”

The Boss assured me that everyone would assume I’ve been a student at North Farmington High School for over a year. And if I have any trouble, I have my glamour.

“S-s-sure. I’m C-C-C-Camden Frasier.” The last comes out in a rush as though shot like an arrow. Ah, a stutter. I’m starting to understand the loner status. The corners of his mouth turn upwards ever so slightly, and I smile back.

“Hey look!” I feign excitement. “We have first period together.” He bites.

“C-c-cool.”

I escort him to geometry, which I failed last year, probably because I skipped about two-thirds of the classes. Better than the unfathomable tortures of Hell…I think. The teacher, Ms. Shoemaker, looks about to chew us out for being late, so I catch her eye, and lay on the glamour I’ve been given, willing her to let it go. Her face goes blank for just a moment, then she turns a little red and welcomes us to the class, instructing us to take a seat.

Only two desks available. I take the one closest to the back. Camden takes the one in front of me. I can’t help but notice the blonde sitting in the front row as she turns to smile back at him. Maybe I should’ve taken his seat instead. My bad. Oh well, maybe she’ll be in some more of our classes. Camden and I “accidentally” have almost every period together.

“I’m just no good at geometry,” the blonde is telling Camden. “Maybe you and I could, you know, study together?” Damn, I should have paid more attention last year.

She crosses her legs and leans over the back of the chair, blinking her huge brown eyes at him. Is she flirting with
C-C-Camden
? No way. She looks like the head-cheerleader or prom-queen type, not flirt-with-the-awkward-sophomore type. Maybe it’s some kind of cruel joke. That could work in my favor…

I wait until she catches my eye, then wink. It was inevitable she’d look over eventually. I mean, I am sitting right behind the dork and I mean, well, I’m
me
. Her gaze lingers, and I relax back in the chair, tossing my dark curls away from my face so she can get a good look at the baby blues. Wait—she’s turning back toward Camden with a smile.

“Mr. Gaynes,” Ms. Shoemaker chides. “I’m sure Miss Howard is far more entertaining than a review of the Pythagorean theorem, but even so…”

“Sorry,” I say, sitting up straight. The inevitable snickers sound all around, and I fight back a rage that threatens to choke me. I can feel my eyes burn hot and look quickly down. I was warned about my newer, stronger emotions giving away my nature and recall the red in Lucifer’s eyes. I can’t let anyone know what I am. No one would trust a Demon.