Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel Vincent

was tall and curvy, her hair cut straight across the middle of her back. If she’d had a ponytail, I’d have sworn it was Emma.

      But whoever she was, she was about to die.

      I couldn’t speak to warn Nash, so I squeezed his hand, harder than I’d meant to. He started to pull away, but then comprehension widened his eyes and made a firm line of his mouth.

      “Where?” he whispered urgently. “Who is it?”

      Now weak from resisting the song, I could only nod in the blonde’s direction, but that was little help. My gesture took in at least fifty people, more than half of them young women.

      “Show me.” He let go of my left hand but still clung to my right. “Can you walk?”

      I nodded but wasn’t sure that I actually could. My head rang with the echo of screams unvoiced, my legs wobbled, and my free hand grasped the air. A soft, high-pitched mewling leaked from me now, the song seeping through my imperfectly sealed lips. And with it came a familiar darkness, that odd gray filter overlaying my vision. The world felt like it was closing in on me, while something else—anomalous forms and a world no one else could see—seemed to unfold before my eyes.

      Nash pulled me forward. I staggered and gasped, and my jaw fell open. But he righted me quickly, and I clamped my mouth shut, biting my tongue in a hasty effort to keep from screaming. Blood flowed into my mouth, but the next step I took was under my own volition. Pain had cleared my head. My vision was back to normal.

      I stumbled on, Nash guiding me, adjusting our slow course when I shook my head. It only took twelve steps—I counted to help myself focus—then the blonde was within reach, temporarily stalled in her progress toward the door by the crowd. I stopped behind her and nodded to Nash.

      He looked sick. His face went suddenly pale, and his throat worked too hard to swallow back something he obviously didn’t want to say. “You sure?” he whispered, and I nodded again, my jaw creaking now with the effort to hold back my wail. I was sure. This was the one.

      Nash reached out, his fingers trembling as they passed into the eerie shadow shroud, and glanced at me one last time. Then he laid his hand on the girl’s right shoulder.

      She turned, and my heart stopped.

       Emma.

      She’d pulled her ponytail loose at some point and had shuffled ahead of us when I’d lagged behind, fighting the panic.

      I had to make myself breathe, force my lungs to expand with my teeth still clenched together. And again my vision darkened. Went fuzzy. That eerie, dusky haze slipped over everything, so that I saw the world through a thin, colorless fog.

      Emma stared at me through the gloom, wide eyes dimmed by their own private shadow. Her expression was full of understanding, yet missing that vital piece of the puzzle. “It’s happening again, isn’t it?” she whispered, taking my free hand in hers. “Who is it? Can you tell yet?”

      I nodded, and when I blinked, two tears slid down my face, scalding me with thin, hot trails. As I watched, a boy from my biology class brushed Emma’s arm, passing into and out of her personal shade without the slightest flicker of awareness in his eyes. All around us students and parents moved with slow, aimless steps, edging gradually toward the doors. Oblivious to the Netherworld murk they walked through. To what the next few moments would bring.

      On the periphery of my vision, somet hing rushed through the grayness. Something large, and dark, and fast. My heart thumped painfully. A spike of adrenaline tightened my chest. My gaze darted to follow the odd form, but it was gone before I could focus on it, moving easily through the crowd without bumping a single body. But it walked like nothing I’d ever seen, with a peculiar, lopsided grace, as if it had too many limbs. Or maybe too few.

      And no one else saw it.

      My eyes slammed shut in horror. My mind rebelled against what I’d seen, dismissing it as impossible. I knew there were other things out there. I’d been warned. I’d even caught glimpses before. But this was too much; only a thin stream of sound leaked from my tightly locked throat!

      “We have to wait,” Nash whispered, and my eyes opened, my attention snapping back to Emma and the terrible matter at hand. Yet the misshapen form lingered in my mind, its odd bulk imprinted indistinctly on the backs of my eyelids. “She has to die before we can bring her back, and singing too soon would be wasting your energy.”

      No. My hair slapped my face as I shook my head, fervently denying what I already knew to be true. I couldn’t let Emma die. I wouldn’t. But there was nothing I could do to stop it, and we all knew that. Except for Emma.

      “What?” She glanced from me to Nash, contusion lining her forehead. “What’s he talking about?”

      Sweat gathered on my palms, and for once I was glad I couldn’t talk. Couldn’t answer her. Instead, I swaltowed thickly, my throat tightening around the cry scalding me from the inside. The gray haze was darker now, though no thicker. I could see through it easily, yet it tainted everything my terrified gaze landed on, as if the entire gym had been draped in a translucent cloud of smog. And still things moved on the edge of my vision, drawing my eyes in first one direction, then another.

      I would have given anything to be able to speak in that moment, not just to warn Emma—because that was evidently a moot point—but to ask Nash what the hell was going on. Could he see what I saw? More important, could they already see us?

      My head swiveled quickly, my eyes foltowing an eerie burst of motion, but I was too late. I spun in the opposite direction, squinting into the ghostly gloom as I tracked another movement. My jaws ached, my head pounded, and the keening deep in my throat rose in volume. Those closest to us stared at me now, only looking away when Nash drew me into an embrace, pulling my head down onto his shoulder as if to comfort me. Which was, in part, what he was doing.

      “Kaylee, no,” he whispered into my hair, but this time his Infuence was little help. The urge to wail was too strong, the death coming too fast—distantly I saw Emma watching us, still wrapped in an almost solid sheet of shadow. “Don’t look at them.”

      He sees them too? That answered one of my questions….

      “Focus on holding it back,” he said. “Your keening breaches the gap, but I don’t think they can see us yet. They will when you sing, but they’re not here with us, no matter what it looks like.”

      Gap? Gap between what and what? Our world and the Netherworld? Not good. Not good at all…

      I stepped out of his arms to see his face, looking for answers in his expression, but there were none to be found. Probably because I couldn’t ask the right questions.

      Fine. I would ignore the weird gray reality-veil, as impossible as that seemed. But what about the reaper? If Emma was going to die—even if only temporarily—I would not let it be for nothing.

      I glanced pointedly at Emma for effect, my heart breaking a little more at the alarm clear on her face, then exaggerated shrugging my shoulders for Nash, all the while choking back the scream that now felt immediate.

      By some miracle, he understood.

      “You can’t see him until he wants to be seen,” Nash reminded me gently, stepping close to murmur against my forehead. His very words, the almost-physical satin-soft glide of his Influenced voice against my skin, made the panic abate a bit. Not enough to offer much relief, but enough to hold back the screaming for a few more seconds. “And I’d bet my life savings he doesn’t want to be seen. You have to wait. Just hold it in a little longer.”

      “What?” Emma repeated, squeezing my hand now to get my attention. “Can’t see who? Where—”

      Then, in midsentence, she simply collapsed.

      Emma’s legs folded beneath her with my hand still clenched in hers. Her head hit the person behind her. He stumbled and almost went down. I fell forward with her, tears flowing freely now. Nash’s