Enthralled: Paranormal Diversions. Melissa Marr

tried to close the door, but it felt like she was wading through syrup. She wasn’t fast enough. But the man in the green cap was, his arm coming around the edge of the door. His knife was in his hand, reddish-brown lines streaking the dull blade.

      “Oh, no you don’t, you little bitch!” The man grabbed the metal frame before she could close the door, the blade of the knife waving dangerously close to her face.

      Tommy appeared just outside the open car door, only inches from the man wielding the knife. Before the man had a chance to react, Tommy rushed forward and stepped right through him.

      Edie saw the man’s eyes go wide for a second, and he shivered.

      “Back up!” Tommy shouted.

      Edie didn’t think about anything but Tommy’s voice as she turned the key, grinding the ignition. She threw the car into reverse, slamming her foot on the gas.

      The man swore, his hand uncurling from the handle of the knife. He tried to hold onto the doorframe, his filthy nails clawing at the metal.

      Then his fingers slid away, and Edie saw him hit the ground.

      She heard the scream as the Jeep bucked and the front tire rolled over his body. Edie didn’t stop until she could see him lying facedown in the dust. She could see the crushed bones, forced into awkward angles. He wasn’t moving.

      Edie didn’t notice Tommy standing next to the car. He pulled the door open, bent metal scraping through the silence, and knelt down next to her. “Are you okay?”

      “I think I killed him.” Her voice was shaking uncontrollably.

      “Edie, look at me.” Tommy’s was calm. She leaned her head against the seat, turning her face toward his. “You didn’t have a choice. He was going to kill you.”

      She knew Tommy was right. But it didn’t change the fact that she had just killed a man, even if that man was a monster.

      Tommy’s blue eyes were searching her brown ones, their faces only inches apart. “What made you trust me?”

      “Your eyes,” Edie answered. “The eyes don’t lie.”

      “Even if you’re a ghost?”

      Edie smiled weakly. “Especially if you’re a ghost.”

      She looked out at the road. For the first time in forever, it was just a road—dirt and rocks and trees. She tried to imagine what it would be like to spend every night out here, so close to the place where you died.

      “You’re the first person who ever believed me,” Tommy said. “The first person I saved.”

      “Then why did you stay here for so long?”

      Tommy looked away. “I didn’t have a choice.”

      Edie remembered Wes telling her that most ghosts couldn’t leave a place where they had died traumatically. They were chained to that spot, trying to find a way to right the wrong.

      When he turned back to face her, Edie noticed the sadness lingering in his eyes. And something else. . . .

      Tommy was fading, flickering like static on an old TV set. He stared down at his hands, turning them slowly as if seeing them for the first time.

      “I think you can move on now,” Edie said gently. “You know, to wherever you’re supposed to be. Red Run doesn’t need protecting anymore.”

      “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be. But wherever it is, I’m not ready to go.” Tommy was still fading. “There are so many things I never had a chance to do.”

      Edie ran her hand along the black paneling inside the Jeep, and looked at him. “Get in.”

      Tommy hesitated for a second, smiling. “Just don’t take me to meet the friends who made that stuff.”

      Edie smiled back at him. “You can trust me.”

      As she drove away, Red Run disappearing into the darkness, Edie felt the weight of this place disappear along with it. “So where do you want to go?”

      Tommy was still watching her.

      The girl who wasn’t afraid to hunt a ghost.

      “Maybe I’ll hang out with you for a while.” Tommy put his hand on top of hers, and she didn’t need to feel the weight of it to know it was there. “There are always things that need protecting.”

       Things About Love by Jackson Pearce

      LAWRENCE

      he thing about genies is they still act like it’s a big deal when they show themselves to me—even though I’ve been around them for almost three years now. They’re still offended when I roll my eyes at them.

      “So you’re my new guard?” I ask as we pass the science building. I actually had to get a single dorm room, because I was worried a roommate might wonder about me talking to myself constantly. No way would a genie show himself or—in today’s case, herself—to a roommate just to make my life easier.

      “Sort of,” she says. I try not to look at her as we enter my dormitory. I should call Viola and tell her there’s a new guard here. She’d want to know, as she’s the reason I’m mixed up in genies to begin with. She fell in love with one, I got involved, and boom—for “security reasons” the genie police send an officer down to watch me every few months. I don’t really know why it matters—what, do they think I’m going to hit the talk show circuit and gossip about invisible genies? Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.

      The girl follows me upstairs, sidestepping a few lacrosse players who don’t see her. She has golden skin, like all the genies do, and long dark hair. She’s beautiful. They’re all beautiful, and with the exception of Jinn, the one Viola loves, they all seem heartless. She adjusts the straps of the blue satin tunic she’s wearing, straightens out the swirly I on the breast. It stands for ifrit. Ifrit: genie police. If they’d only show themselves to the cameras, I swear I could create a franchise bigger than Cops.

      JULIET

      Here are the things I know about love:

      It involves kissing.

      It changes you.

      It’s never where you expect it.

      I learned it all from the animated movies I studied before coming here. I asked the other jinn, the one who loves the mortal girl, to tell me more about love. He tried to describe it. He used words like beautiful, elegant, and peaceful, but I don’t really understand how all of those things combine to create an entirely new emotion. I wanted to ask the mortal girl, but he wouldn’t let me near her. So I pulled some strings and got myself assigned to this mortal instead, the girl’s best friend. He’s used to talking to jinn. He’s better than no help at all.

      And I need his help. See, I’m not usually an ifrit—I’m really a historian, a keeper of records, the youngest one in ages. I know all the jinn lore, all the myths about why we exist. I know all the traditional tales about why our kind live in a perfect world, yet are forced into subservience to mortals. We were too proud, we forgot compassion and caring and love. So we were punished. Exiled to another world, Caliban, and forced to serve mortals.

      But we haven’t forgotten those things, clearly—or at least, one of us hasn’t. Jinn and the mortal girl, they’re in love. Everyone knows it. The Ancients don’t know what to do about it. I don’t know what to do about it. Caliban doesn’t know what to do about it—their love has turned everything we know about our kind upside down. If we can love, should we have the choice to? Should we try to? Doing so would mean revealing ourselves to mortals willingly,