Desires of the Dead
Page 5Violet wanted to say something sarcastic and sharp-witted to lighten the mood, but with Jay staring at her like that, any hope of finding a clever response was lost. She could feel herself disappearing into the depths of that uncertain look.
She ignored the common sense that warned her not to lean in for another kiss. She much preferred giving in to that other part of her. The part that wanted more, the part that told her: Don’t stop.
And when Jay didn’t back away either, she realized that she wasn’t the only one who was disregarding logic tonight.
Her heart skipped beats, fluttering madly, as their lips finally touched.
Chapter 2
Violet was sitting at the kitchen table when her dad came down, already dressed for work. According to the clock, it was only five fifteen. On a Saturday.
“I made coffee.” Violet kept her voice low, even though there wasn’t a chance in hell they’d wake her mom at this hour.
Her dad ignored her comment and instead sat beside her. “What’s the matter, Vi? Couldn’t sleep?” He frowned, looking even more serious than usual. “Was it the dream again?”
Violet gritted her teeth. Of course it was the dream. It was always the dream—a faceless man chasing her—waking her night after night, a scream wedged painfully, noiselessly, against the hollow of her throat.
She hated the dream.
Her father pressed his hand over hers. It was a gentle, reassuring gesture. “You’re safe, baby. No one can hurt you now.” He squeezed tighter, trying to convince her. “You and Jay, you’re both safe.”
“I know it’s just a dream.” She shrugged, drawing her hand away. She took another bite of her cereal, smiling weakly and pretending that she believed her own words.
If only it didn’t feel so real. . . .
But she knew he was right; it was just a nightmare, nothing more. It didn’t mean anything.
Besides, it wasn’t like she was psychic. Psychics had abilities that were actually useful; they could predict the future, see things before they happened.
Violet’s skill was something else altogether: She could only locate the dead. And only after they’d been murdered.
It was a painful ability to have—one that she’d been able to use once, when a pair of serial killers had hunted girls in the area. But, of course, she hadn’t been able to save their victims. She had only helped locate the killers, to stop them from killing again.
Yes, maybe she was special, but if she’d had her way, she would have chosen to be psychic. Or, better yet, completely normal.
Unfortunately, Violet was never given a choice in the matter.
She honked from out in the driveway, a long, inconsiderate blare. Even Chelsea’s car was obnoxious.
Violet made an apologetic face to her mom before heading out the door.
Chelsea honked a second time as Violet jumped down the front porch steps.
“Nice, Chels. What if my parents were still sleeping?” Violet accused as she slid inside the car’s warm interior.
“Yeah, right. Your dad’s like a farmer. He’s the early-to-bed-early-to-rise kind of guy. And I really doubt your mom sleeps past ten, even on a Saturday.” She gave Violet a sideways glance and raised her eyebrows. “Am I wrong?”
“Not this morning,” Violet admitted. “But you could have been.”
But it was pointless to argue; Chelsea was already turning up her stereo.
Late January was not the usual tourist season downtown, especially not on Seattle’s waterfront. In the summertime, it was bustling with activity: shoppers, tourists, impromptu street concerts, artists, and restaurants all squeezed in tightly along the piers. This time of year there was still activity, but the crowds were anemic, people nestled inside their warm winter coats and clutching umbrellas beneath the low-lying gray clouds.
Chelsea didn’t seem to notice the weather or the lack of fanfare on the streets. “We should totally take a ferry out to one of the islands,” she begged breathlessly.
Violet could remember riding the ferries with her parents when she was little. They would buy her hot cocoa from the concession stand and then huddle up at the railings and watch the choppy black waves of the Puget Sound.
Chelsea jumped up and down, the enthusiasm on her face making her look younger, less jaded. “Let’s just take the first one we can get!”
Violet laughed. This was why she liked hanging out with Chelsea by herself; she was a different person when no one else was watching.
According to the schedule, there was an island run due to leave in a little over an hour. They bought their tickets and wandered around the piers before it was time to board.
They stopped at Ye Olde Curiosity Shop, a tourist favorite crammed with freakshow oddities, where Chelsea bought a necklace with a creepy shrunken head dangling from the chain. And before they left, they asked the guy behind the counter to take a picture of the two of them standing in front of a petrified pig that was on display.
Once they were outside, it was just starting to drizzle, and Violet tugged the hood of her coat over her head.
The feeling, the quivering vibrations, struck her long before the sound.
That unmistakable shiver beneath her skin was followed immediately by the inexorable sensation of being summoned, as if something reached into the very core of her and tugged. She could no more ignore the pull than she could deny what it was.