Sisters of Salt and Iron (The Sisters of Blood and Spirit, #2)(4)

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key ring. There was an aged brass D hanging from it. D for Daria, not Daniel.

I fumbled with the keys, trying to pull the large letter off the ring. Freaking hell! Who invented key rings, anyway? Couldn’t they have thought of a more user-friendly setup?

Wren and Daria smashed into the row of shower stalls, buckling the metal frames.

Finally, the letter came free. I pulled a plastic baggy partially filled with salt from my pocket and opened the seal, dropping the letter charm inside.

A few sparks, but other than that, nothing. Shit. If it wasn’t the letter anchoring Daria to the world of the living, then what was it?

Anger. Vengeance. I didn’t know how to break that, and Mr. Fisher wasn’t going to fit into a sandwich bag of salt. If I didn’t do something fast, Daria and my sister were going to wreck the locker room.

Mr. Fisher, Roxi and Sarah were on the floor near the wall of lockers, huddled together. They looked terrified, and I didn’t blame them. I dropped to my knees in front of them as Daria flew toward me, crashing into the lockers above my head.

“Get out,” I ordered. “Get out now!”

I didn’t have to tell them twice. They scrabbled across the floor, keeping low until it was safe to stagger to their feet and run for the door. Mr. Fisher paused and looked back at me.

“Dee, no!” he shouted.

My brain froze, but my body didn’t. I dropped to the floor, twisting so that I landed on my back. Daria leaped onto me like a cat on a mouse, all darkness and stink and sharp teeth.

“Hold her!” I cried.

Wren seized her, fingers like talons as they restrained Daria’s arms. I tried not to look at her. I didn’t want to see my sister looking like something out of a horror movie. I ripped open the bag of salt and shoved my hand inside, scooping up the sharp grains and the charm. I looked up into the ghost’s fathomless eyes; there was no shred of humanity left.

“Do it,” my sister growled. Her voice was like the drag of a shovel across a gravestone, and it was all the encouragement I needed to end this shit storm fast.

I bolted upright, slamming my fist into the gaping side of Daria’s skull, burrowing my hand deep into the ectoplasm of her brain. I gagged.

It’s not really her brain. She’s dead. A ghost—she has no brain, not physically. Telling myself that was the only thing that got me to open my fingers and release the salt and charm inside her. She reared up, screaming.

I fell back on the floor, hands over my ears. It felt like my head was going to explode. I gasped for breath as tears streamed down my cheeks.

And then, it was quiet. No other sound but the muffled music from the dance, reverberating through the floor.

Daria was gone, and my sister sat beside me, her back to me, legs splayed and shoulders slumped.

“Wren?” My voice sounded small.

She held up her hand—it still looked like claws. I knew not to say another word. Instead, I sat up and took that hand in my own. Once we made contact it didn’t take long for it to morph back into its usual state. I didn’t understand my effect on my sister any more than I understood any part of our existence, but it didn’t matter. I was the one thing that could bring her back from a manifestation.

“You okay?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yes. You?”

“I’m covered in salt and ghost-goo, but, yeah, I’m okay.” I was sore, but that would be gone by morning—another side effect of this whacked-out life.

“This room’s a mess.”

I glanced around at the damage. It was too much for me to undo. “We need to get out of here. Is she gone?”

Wren nodded. “She’s gone. How did that even work?”

I shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

“We need to start figuring these things out.”

“Yeah, but not tonight.” I pushed myself to my feet. She followed—much more gracefully, of course. “There’s one thing we need to do before we go home.”

“What’s that?”

I grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door. “Let’s dance.”





WREN


There really wasn’t any reason for me to stay at the dance once Daria moved on, but I knew it bothered Lark sometimes when I manifested, and that had been happening a fair bit lately. I couldn’t help it—Halloween was coming, and my ties to the world of the living were already abnormally strong. I knew Lark was having a difficult time with the number of ghosts she had to deal with, but I don’t think she realized how hard it was for me to try to remain hidden when All Hallows’ Eve demanded I come out and show myself.

Anyway, I stayed at the dance so that Lark and I could have a little fun together—not that she paid that much attention to me. She had her boyfriend, Ben. And now that she had real, loyal friends, she didn’t need me so much. I was happy for her, and I knew I could hang out with her group anytime I wanted. But being in a room with people who couldn’t see or hear you seemed more like punishment than fun.

I danced a little with Lark and our friends—she insisted they were mine, too—to a few faster songs. Even though Lark and Kevin—who I was trying to avoid—were the only ones who could actually see me, I still enjoyed myself—laughing as they took silly selfies and made what Sarah called “duck lips.”