She flips the page and taps it with her finger on the title. “I’m not sure, but read this. It’s really interesting.”
“The Grim Reaper is believed to be the collector of the evil souls. They possess the ability to not only separate one’s soul from their body, and guide it to the next world, but they can also trick an individual to render their life over to them.” Oh my God, my mom. “They like to play tricks on the bodies of the souls they take, leaving them hanging from trees, hiding them—”
She taps the brake so hard it locks up our seatbelts.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, unlocking my seat belt.
“What if… what if Asher’s a Grim Reaper and you’re a Grim Angel?” It’s like a light switch has flipped on in her head.
I shake my head. “There’s no way that can be true. Why would you even say that?”
“Ember, think about it. You can see death. If you were a Grim Angel, this could be why,” she presses. “And Asher has so much interest in you. And he knew where your car was. What if he told the cops?”
“No. There’s no way.” But doubts tug at my mind. When I died in the rose garden and I saw the Reaper take off his hood, he looked like Asher.
I shake the thoughts from my head. I won’t jump to conclusions just yet, not until I hear what he has to say. Especially since Asher brings me an indescribable calmness to my mind and body and he has never openly done anything to hurt me. And he’s had a lot of chances.
“It says in the book that they like to mess with Grim Angels’ heads and try to ruin their lives, make them go crazy, and get them to surrender to the Wrath of Death,” she says. “Think about it, Em. What if Asher did something to Laden after he saved me, but only so he could reenact what happened with your dad? What if he has been wiggling his way into your life to fuck with your head?”
“Why are you making these accusations?” I ask. “When just a few seconds ago you were defending Asher.”
“Because it’s making sense now.”
“No, it’s not. Nothing is making any sense. At all. My whole life doesn’t make sense. It’s like I’m always one step away from walking off a cliff.”
“Read some more,” she urges, waving her hand at the book. “See if there’s anything else that might give us some more clues.”
I continue in an unsteady voice. “Grim Reapers are also excellent shape shifters, more often than not in the form of snakes, rats, cats, birds, and sometimes humans. Through their abilities, a Grim Reaper has been known to steal many innocent souls with a simple bribe or trick. This was the cause of the first battle between good and evil that lasted nearly a decade.” I stop reading.
She reaches over and turns the page. On the top of it is a beautiful Angel, with wings as black as the ones I’m wearing and hair as dark as ash. “Keep reading. I think you’re getting close.”
“An Angel of Death brings a more peaceful death to the individual whose soul they collect. They only collect the souls of the dying innocent and carry the spirit over to the next world. They bring a sense of calm with their touch.” That sounds more like Asher. “Unlike the Grim Reaper, they wait for death and do not feed off the life of an individual. They are gentle by nature, but passionate in battle.” My eyes meet Raven’s. “Passionate in battle?”
“It talks about a battle more toward the back.” She diverges into the parking lot of the community center, not reducing the speed, and I’m slammed into the door. “But you can read about all this later. Right now, I want you to focus on having fun.”
“Yeah… right.”
Strobe lights flash in front of the entrance and a shroud of torn sheets hang from the front doors. Hay bales, with skeletons situated on them, border the sidewalk, and on the sloped roof of the school, the Grim Reaper stands. It’s fake, with yellow eyes, but it sends a chill up my spine.
“Em.” Raven’s voice brings me back to her. She parks the car next to a group of people dressed up like the Scooby Doo gang. “I have to tell you something. And it’s really important.” She texts someone and then tucks the phone into her bra.
“Really.” I give her a look. “In your bra?”
Her face drains of humor. “I might need my cell phone.”
I bite down on my lip until it bleeds and fills my mouth with the bitter taste of rust. “Raven… do you really believe in this stuff?” I hold up the book. “Grim Reapers, Death Angels, and battles between good and evil? Or are you just showing it to me because I asked about a Grim Angel?”
Her eyes are as soft as they’ve ever been, and at that moment she is the same friend that slapped Ricky Stewart in the face when he cut off a piece of my hair in kindergarten. “My best friend has been able to see how everyone is going to die since she was four-years-old. If that shit can exist, why can’t this?”
“I think the gift might be gone.” I place a hand on her arm. “I can’t feel your death anymore.”
“Your curse isn’t gone.” She smiles sadly and slips the white-feathered wings onto her back.
“Yeah, but what if it’s not a curse?” I maneuver awkwardly out of the car, bending low to get my wings out. “What if I’m… What if this whole time I’ve been able to do all this stuff because I’m not human?”
“It would still be considered a curse, Em. Death stole your life away from you when you were four.” She locks up the doors and the headlights flash as the car beeps. “Come on, let’s go inside.”
The chilled wind blows through our hair as we hike across the parking lot and Raven holds the bottom of her dress down and fiddles with her hair. Inside her bra, the phone rings, and she does a little wiggle from the vibration, but ignores the call.