2. Death was talking to her
“Dat’s good son. Da gurl is right dare witin yor reach. Don worry bout de Death. De gurl’s soul don mean notin to him.” Father stepped out in front of me as I started up Pagan’s sidewalk. His top hat was cocked back on his head, which meant he’d been drinking heavily and was in a very good mood.
“Thanks but I’m already late. I don’t want to get on her bad side tonight. She isn’t a fan of me yet.” But she would be. I was going to make sure of it.
“Jes get de gurl. You don ‘ave time for anytin else. Dankmar is close on her heels.” With one final ring of smoke from his lips he disappeared. He was right of course. I had to find a way into Pagan’s heart and fast.
Pagan opened the door almost immediately. The look on her face wasn’t promising. Crap. I’d pissed her off again. Flashing her my most sincere smile I began apologizing. “I’m really sorry about this. I feel bad you’re having to work around my schedule. I know seven is late and, well, I’m sorry.”
Her anger vanished and the easy smile I’d hoped to see appeared on her face. She was beautiful.
“That’s okay. Go ahead and sit at the table and I’ll get us something to drink. Do you like root beer?” She asked turning and walking away from me. I followed her inside. I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a root beer but that admission would sound odd.
“That’s great, thanks.” I replied.
Her living room wasn’t new to me. I’d been here so many times before. Watching over her. Consoling her. Now, she was helping me. This time she would remember my being here. Just knowing that what we had would finally be real to her was exciting.
When she walked back into the room I decided to ease the nervous tension surrounding us. This should be easy. “I brought the schedule for class and what all is expected in this course. I have one week before the first speech is due and it needs to be on something I feel strongly about.”
She sat the soda down in front of me. “So, we need to decide what you’re passionate about.”
I couldn’t keep the smile off my face. Passionate. That was a loaded word. One I knew a lot about.
“What?” she asked frowning.
“What I’m passionate about?” I asked still grinning.
She rolled her eyes, “You know, something you feel strongly about. Like your purpose or platform.”
There was only one thing I felt passionate about but it wasn’t time I admit that just yet. “Passionate, I like that. Let’s think of something I’m passionate about.”
The prissy look on her face as she puckered her lips and grabbed the notebook was just too damn cute. “Got any ideas?” she asked in a tone that said she already knew I was going to say something superficial and she was prepared to write it down.
I decided I’d throw her little know-it-all ideas for a loop. “The importance of adoption.”
She began to write it down and paused. It was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I’d just surprised the hell out of her.
“Okay,” she replied studying me closely. She wanted an explanation. Good thing I had one.
“I was adopted after living in foster homes for five years. I’d given up hope that I would get a family by the time I turned nine because most people want babies. I was given a chance most nine year old foster kids only dream of.”
Her eyes widened in shock, “Oh, wow, I had no idea. I, uh, can see why this would be an important topic for you.”
The expression on her face switched from surprise, to confusion then to what looked liked sadness. I hadn’t meant to make her sad. I’d just wanted to redeem myself somehow. She thought so little of me already.
“You did hear the part where I got adopted, right?” I asked softly with an easy smile in hopes of cheering her up. “You look so distraught. I thought maybe you missed the happy ending.”
“I’m sorry. It’s just, well, I wasn’t expecting that. You kind of surprised me.”
I leaned back in my chair. “It sure seems to me that you’ve got a lot of ideas where I’m concerned. You sure have put a lot of thought into someone you don’t like very much.” The instant blush on her cheeks told me that I’d made some progress. If I could show her I wasn’t the guy she thought I was then I had hope that she’d love me back someday. Preferably soon. “Who knows Pagan, you may like me before this is over.”
She was warming up to me. From the way her eyes followed me down the hall and studied me from across the cafeteria, I knew her feelings toward me were changing. Our nights spent studying were now easy. We talked and laughed with none of the awkwardness that I’d been faced with in the beginning. She wasn’t nervous around me anymore. My only problem was the fact Death was still watching her.
I could feel her gaze on me as she walked down the hallway. She wanted me to turn and look at her. The attraction was like a tingling sensation running through my body. But I couldn’t. Death was near her. He was the cold barrier keeping me from saying anything to her or even meeting her gaze. He’d see me and study me too closely. I didn’t want him to realize the soulless being that he was obviously dismissing was more than he assumed. I wasn’t one of Hell’s many servants. I was the Prince of Voodoo. Dankmar didn’t need to realize that too soon. It would mess up everything.
He spoke … and Pagan heard him. What? Could she see Death too? I knew my claim on her soul allowed her to see lost souls but could it also let her see Death as well? Listening to the guys around me talking about Friday night’s game was impossible. I needed to hear what he was saying. Why was Dankmar talking to a soul? What could he possibly have to say to her? He was here to take her, or at least try to. This was not normal. I needed to speak to my father. He would understand this.
I tuned out everyone around me but Pagan. I couldn’t see Dankmar. I could only feel him. I also couldn’t hear him. But she could. She was speaking to him. How?
“I’m not bothered,” she hissed through her teeth as she opened her locker door. What did that mean? Dammit I needed to hear what he was saying too.
Slowly she turned her head to look at him. He must be beside her. I still could only see her. But she was studying him closely. Was her time drawing near and he was letting her know? Didn’t he normally just do that with children? Why would he be giving her a heads-up?
“Staring at them will only make things worse. Ghede would advise against making a scene,” Kendra’s icy tone reminded me to speak with Father again about getting rid of her. She wasn’t helping things. She’d grown attached to me. That had never been the plan.
“This isn’t your business, Kendra,” I reminded her in a hard voice. If she didn’t step out of my way I would remove her myself.