Dead Girl in Love

that huge small word.

“All right then.” My pulse raced. “When can we meet?”

“When can I meet your grandmother?” he countered.

“Oh, yeah … about meeting Grammy … ” I fidgeted, tapping my finger against the phone. “I haven’t managed that yet.”

“Is there a problem?” he asked, a sharp rise in his tone.

There will be when she finds out about you, I thought. I shook my head. “No. I’ll talk to her, but I need to talk to Alyce first. Once I find out some things from Alyce, it’ll be easier to talk to Grammy.”

“All right then.” He paused. “Let’s do this, but my moon cycle in this body ends in three days, so it has to be soon.”

“How soon?”

“Tonight would be good for me — how about you?”

A glance at the digital clock on Alyce’s dresser showed me it was almost midnight. I should be in bed, asleep … but I was too hyped up to relax. Anxious energy pumped through my veins and sleep seemed like a concept for average mortals. With Alyce’s mother safely in her room, I could easily sneak out.

“Okay.” My answer was a leap off a high cliff into a bottomless canyon. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

* * *

The car light flashed on Gabe’s ruggedly handsome face and hazel-green eyes as I slipped into the passenger seat. The door shut, light fading into a fog of darkness. The only illumination came in muted yellow and red glows from the car’s dials and buttons.

“Where are we going?” I asked, my wildly thumping heart making me dizzy. Or maybe my light-headedness came from being so close to a Dark Lifer … and not just any Dark Lifer, either, but a dangerous fugitive. I had to be crazy to go off with him like this. He had a history of lying, deceiving, and cruelty. Yet it wasn’t fear I felt — it was excitement.

“We’ll go somewhere we won’t be disturbed,” he answered.

A tremor slithered up my spine. “But I can’t be gone too long because Alyce’s mother might wake up and need me. I don’t want to go too far.”

“It’s only a few miles.” He started the engine and drove away from my last connection to safety.

We pulled into a strip mall with specialty stores, banks, and restaurants. The only business open was a twenty-four-hour grocery store, but we drove past it and parked in front of a small store called Wet Pets.

“Come on,” Gabe said, killing the engine and reaching into a compartment and pulling out a set of keys.

“Where are we going?” I asked, gesturing to the darkened buildings.

“Inside.” He nodded toward Wet Pets.

“But it’s closed.”

“Closed means privacy.”

His keys jingled softly, reminding me of the warning rattle from a snake. So many reasons to turn around and run before it was too late — yet I followed.

He walked up to Wet Pets, ignoring the Closed sign as if he owned the place. He reached for a side control panel, which lit up when he punched in some numbers. Beep, beep, and a red light flashed to green. Gabe splayed out the keys and chose a small gold one to fit into the lock. Click. The door fell open into a dark cavern.

“This way,” Gabe told me, crooking his finger in a “follow” gesture.

I followed into a shadowy world of fish.

“Are we allowed in here?” I asked in a hushed voice. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, which illuminated the rows and rows of large glass tanks full of many species of fish in amazing colors. There was a low electrical hum and echoing, bubbling sounds.

“It’s perfectly all right,” he said with a shrug. “I used to work here.”

“You worked?”

“Don’t look so surprised. I earn an honest wage when it suits me, and managing a fish store suited me well. The owner, an odd little man with a glass eye, trusted me completely.”

“Trusted you?” I raised my brows skeptically.

“I was the best employee he ever had.”

“Then why did you leave?”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Why do I always leave? But I like to think my boss noticed a change, perhaps a lack of efficiency, in his employee after I left. He became merely an ordinary human.”

“Why do you still have keys?” I pointed to the faint lump in his jacket pocket.

“I keep souvenirs of my lives — at least the more memorable ones — and tonight the keys came in handy. Luckily, the manager was too lazy to change the security code.” He walked over to a tank of colorfully striped fish and leaned close to the bubbly water. “Isn’t that the most amazing scent?”

“Fish?” I crinkled my nose, a little grossed out.

“Seawater. Even though it’s not pure seawater — stores that sell fish use bags with a salt mix to create seawater— the scent of salty water energizes me. I always try to choose bodies that work or live near the ocean, but sometimes I end up miles away and have to improvise.”

“Why does the ocean mean so much to you?”

“It’s my life … or it was before … well, you know. No matter what body I move into, I feel the sway and pull of the ocean. It’s the beat of my heart, the rise and fall of the tide. Where I get my soul energy.”

“Soul energy?”

“It’s hard to explain when we’re stuck in these heavy earth bodies, but it’s how souls without a permanent body draw strength. It took me many decades to learn that my energy increases when I can breathe in the ocean air or swim in the sea.”

“Will I gain energy by touching seawater?” I gestured to the nearest fish tank.

“No.”

“But if it worked for you, why not me?”

“As Alexander Pope said, On life’s vast ocean diversely we sail. Reasons the card, but passion the gale. The ocean is my passion, not yours.” He moved down the row of aquariums and stared wistfully at the eels slithering across the glass. “All souls have something important to them, passions that bring joy and heighten the emotions. During the hippy era, they would have called this finding their nirvana. It’s different, though, for those of us shifting in and out of borrowed bodies. This essence of ourselves is stronger because we aren’t restricted by a jail of flesh and bone.”

“You’re confusing me,” I said.

“Not surprising since humans only use ten percent of their brains. You’ll understand much better in a pure energy state.”

“We’re already in California.” I couldn’t resist joking.

“Not that kind of state.” He turned toward me, sly amusement mingling with the glow of yellowy fish tank lights. “Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else’s opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.”

“Who said that?”

“Oscar Wilde.”

“Don’t tell me Oscar Wilde was a Temp Lifer, too.”

“Doubtful. That quote isn’t about literally living other lives; it’s about people following others rather than seeking their own passion. Soul passion is the key to power.”

I still didn’t understand, but I was mesmerized by the lyrical lilt of his so-very-masculine voice. I found myself leaning closer, inhaling his scent of sea and mystery, eager to learn more.

“These bodies are vessels for life yet they are prisons, too, much like these aquariums are to the fish inside,” he went on. “But since you and I aren’t the true owners of our bodies, only visitors, we aren’t bound by the same rules of nature. To connect with your friend, you’ll need to free your soul.”

“Huh?” I said oh-so-brilliantly.