Almost Midnight (Shadow Falls: After Dark #3.5)(115)

“Yeah,” Fredericka said, but the thought sent another shot of panic to her gut. “But that problem will go away, right? They cross over.”

“With your help,” Holiday said.

Oh, crap. “What … exactly do I have to do?”





Chapter Ten


Fredericka spent the rest of the afternoon working on her new pieces of jewelry and trying not to panic about getting information from Brandon’s sister on how she died. Then after she had that information, she’d have to figure out how to share it without informing anyone that she was talking to dead people.

How the hell did Holiday and the others who had this so-called gift manage to do this without completely losing it? If Fredericka was a little closer to Kylie, she’d go to her and ask some questions and maybe even for some advice. But Fredericka didn’t know her that well. She wasn’t close to anyone. Not really.

Right then she recalled how close she’d felt to Brandon.

I wouldn’t recommend getting too friendly with him. Holiday’s warning played in her head.

Fredericka would bet that meant no kissing. It was too late for that, wasn’t it?

And if he tried again…? Oh, hell. She knew she didn’t want to stop it.

She’d just finished putting away her tools, when her phone rang. Frowning, she snatched it up, thinking it might be Cary.

But the number wasn’t his. Or at least not his cell phone. Oh, hell, had he bought a burner phone so she couldn’t prove he was blackmailing her?

“Hello,” she said, ready to give Cary hell.

“Ricka?”

She recognized Brandon’s voice immediately but wasn’t expecting it. “Hi.”

“You busy?” he asked.

“No.” She remembered she’d left her number on the contract. “Just putting away my tools. I’m almost finished with the next pair of earrings.”

“I just finished working, too.” A beat of silence hung long before he continued. “I … was concerned about that teacher. He’s not going to cause you any trouble, is he? If you need me to talk to someone, I will.”

“No, I’m fine,” she lied. Other than a warning, there hadn’t been any consequences. And she’d be extra careful from here on out to record all her homework, so he couldn’t claim she wasn’t doing it.

“That’s not the only reason I called,” he said.

“It isn’t?” she asked, and prayed it wasn’t to tell her he’d decided she and he weren’t going to work.

“No, I … just wanted to say that I had a great time today and I already wish it was tomorrow.”

“Me, too.” She smiled, and for the first time, all the negative feelings about dealing with the dead faded and she felt … happy. Fredericka Lakota was happy. And considering how long it had been since she’d really felt this, it was kind of amazing. She dropped down into the chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“I tried telling myself that we needed to put a stop to it. And it might be the smart thing to do, but I don’t want to do the smart thing right now.”

“What could be so bad?” she asked and ran her finger over a threadbare spot on her knee.

“Well, we could break up and then you wouldn’t want to work here.”

“First I’d like to think we’re both mature enough to handle anything, and second … you should never go into something thinking it will end.”

“That’s almost exactly what I told myself,” he said and she could swear she heard a mattress sigh. Was he in bed? While it shouldn’t matter where he was, in a silly way she liked thinking of him in bed.

Maybe even shirtless.

“It’s crazy, I feel this strange kind of connection with you. And it’s not just our…”

“Scars,” she finished for him and she recalled what Holiday had said about a mixed blood recognizing themselves in another of their kind.

“Yes. I mean, there’s the fact that we’re both artists, but it seems even more than that.”

“I feel it, too,” she said and she was surprised at how her voice sounded wispy.

“Good, I feel a little less crazy.” There was a pause. “Tell me something about yourself.” His voice sounded a little lazy.

“You already know a lot,” she said, instantly worrying that when he knew everything about her, he’d decide she was too … damaged.

“Tell me more,” he said.

“I’d rather not.” She leaned her forehead down onto her knee. The happiness living and breathing in her chest felt vulnerable.

“It can’t all be bad,” he said.

“Yeah, it can,” she said.

A silence filled the line. “Where’s your dad now?”

She swallowed. “He’s dead.”

“How old were you?”

She felt that ache she’d been fighting the last few days swell up in her chest. “It happened a little more than a week ago.”

“Damn. I’m sorry. That has to be tough.”

“I hadn’t seen him in eight years.” Her throat tightened. “He wasn’t what you would call a great dad.”

“It doesn’t matter. He was still your dad.” He inhaled and she heard him roll over again. Definitely on a mattress. “It took me a long time to realize that. I mean, my mom wouldn’t have ever won a mother-of-the-year award, but I still loved her, even when I hated her. And I grieved for her. At first it pissed me off. I felt as if by grieving I was allowing her another way of hurting me. It’s not so. You have to grieve.”