Soul Screamers Collection. Rachel Vincent

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      “Nothing.” Going for nonchalance, I kicked first one sneaker then the other onto the floor of my closet.

      “I heard you two talking.” He leaned against the door frame, thick arms crossed over a broad chest, still well defined after who-knows-how-many years of life. “What are you planning at the memorial, and who’s Tod?”

      Well, crap. I shoved aside a pile of clean, unfolded clothes Aunt Val had dumped on my bed at some point and sank onto the comforter, my mind whirling in search of an answer that was at least as much truth as it was fabrication. But I came up empty. Nothing I made up would ring true to him, especially considering he knew more about bean sidhes than I knew about …anything.

      So maybe I should just tell him the truth …. That way, if the rogue reaper did show up at the memorial and Nash refused to help me out of some misguided attempt to protect me, surely Uncle Brendon would step in. He might act tough, but inside he was a big teddy bear, and he could no more watch an innocent girl die before her time than I could.

      “You sure you want to hear this?” I pulled my legs beneath me on the bed, fiddling with the frayed hem of my jeans.

      Uncle Brendon shook his head. “I’m pretty sure I don’t want to. But go ahead.”

      “You might want to sit,” I warned him, reaching to pluck my iPod from my pillow. The earbuds had gotten tangled again; I guess that’s what I get for falling asleep wearing them.

      My uncle shrugged, then settled into my desk chair, waiting with his arms still crossed over his chest.

      “Okay, here’s the deal. And I’m only telling you this because I know you’ll do the right thing. So technically, I think my voluntary disclosure exempts me from any penalty for what I’m about to admit.”

      His lips quirked, as if a smile had been vetoed at the last minute. “Go on.”

      I inhaled and held the next breath for a moment, wondering where best to begin. But there was no good place to start, so I dove in, hoping my good intentions would bail me out during the less altruistic parts of the story. “Meredith Cole wasn’t the first one.”

      “She wasn’t your first premonition?” He didn’t look surprised. Of course, he couldn’t have forgotten the other times—including the incident preceding my trip to the hospital.

      “That too. But, I mean, she wasn’t the first girl to die this week. There was one Saturday night and one yesterday afternoon. It happened the same way with all three girls.”

      “And you predicted them all?” Now he looked surprised, his forehead crinkled, brows furrowed.

      “No, I never even saw the second one.” I glanced at my lap, avoiding his eyes while my fingers worked nervously at the earbuds, trying to produce two separate wires from a knot any sailor would have been proud of. “But I saw the girl who died on Saturday, and knew it was going to happen. Same thing with Meredith this afternoon.” Which I assumed Aunt Val had told him.

      “Wait, Saturday night?” The ladder-backed chair creaked and I looked up as he leaned forward to eye me in growing suspicion. “I thought you stayed home.”

      I shrugged and raised one brow at him. “I thought I was human.”

      My uncle frowned but nodded, as if to say he’d earned that one. Still, I couldn’t believe Aunt Val hadn’t ratted on me. As cool as that was of her, I couldn’t help wondering why. Had all the “coffee” made her forget my indiscretion?

      “So where did this first girl die?” He leaned back again, crossing thick arms over his chest. “Where did you go?”

      Suddenly the wires now tangled around my fingers seemed fascinating. “Taboo, this dance club in the West End. But—”

      He scowled, and even with thick brown brows casting shadows across his eyes, I thought I saw some movement of the green in his irises. I know that never happened before. I would have noticed. “How did you even get into a nightclub?” he demanded. “Do you have a fake ID?”

      I rolled my eyes. “No, I just snuck in through the back.” Sort of. “But that’s not really the point,” I rushed on, hoping he’d be distracted by the next part. “One of the girls in the club was.dark. Like she was wearing shadows no one else could see. And when I looked at her, I knew she was going to die, and that panic—or premonition, or whatever it is—came on hard and fast, just like last time. It was horrible. But I didn’t know I’d been right—that she’d actually died—until I saw the story on the news yesterday morning.” Speaking of which. “Are the others dead too? The ones I saw last year?” My fingers stilled in my lap as I stared at my uncle, begging him, daring him to tell me the truth.

      He looked sad, like he didn’t want to have to say it, but there was no doubt in his eyes. Nor any hesitation. “Yes.”

      “How do you know?”

      He smiled almost bitterly. “Because you girls are never wrong.”

      Great. Morbid and accurate. Sounds like the sales pitch for a county-fair fortune-teller.

      “Anyway, after I saw the news yesterday morning, I kind of freaked. And then it happened again that afternoon, and things got really weird.”

      “But you didn’t predict that one, right?”

      I nodded and dropped my hopelessly knotted earbuds in my lap. “I heard about that one secondhand, but had to look up the story online. This girl in Arlington died exactly like the girl at Taboo. And like Meredith. They all three just fell over dead, with no warning. Does that sound normal to you?”

      “No.” To his credit, my uncle didn’t even hesitate. “But that doesn’t rule out coincidence. How much did Nash tell you about what we can do?”

      “Everything important, I hope.” And even if he’d left some gaps, that was much better than the canyons my own family had created in my self-awareness. Not to mention my psyche.

      Uncle Brendon’s eyes narrowed in doubt, and he crossed one ankle over the opposite knee. “Did he mention what happens to a person’s soul when he dies?”

      “Yeah. That’s where Tod comes in.”

      “Who’s Tod?”

      “The reaper who works at the hospital. He’s stuck there because he let this little girl live once when she was supposed to die, and his boss killed the girl’s grandmother instead. But anyway—”

      Uncle Brendon shot out of the chair, his face flushed so red I thought he might be having an aneurism. Did bean sidhes have aneurisms?

      “Nash took you to see a reaper?” He stomped across my rug, gesturing angrily with both arms. “Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?” I tried to answer, but he barreled forward, stopping at the end of my bed to stare down at me as he ranted. “Reapers don’t like bean sidhes. Our abilities are at odds with theirs, and most of them feel very threatened by us. Going to see a reaper is like walking into a police station waving a loaded shotgun.”

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