Dead Spots (Scarlett Bernard #1)(23)

“Don’t kill me!” Ronnie screeched. “I won’t tell nobody!”

Cruz and I exchanged another look. I climbed to my feet, reaching a hand down to Ronnie. He stared at me, terrified, and I made an impatient come on motion. “Ronnie, I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I’m not going to kill you. This guy”—I nodded at Cruz—“is a cop. It would be seriously stupid for me to kill you in front of a cop. Do you think I’m that stupid, Ronnie?”

“No.”

“Awesome. Can we sit somewhere and talk?”

“Uh...I guess.”

Ronnie led us back into the main storeroom, pushing some of the overturned boxes around to create makeshift chairs. He seated himself closest to the door, which I ignored. Let him feel like he had an edge. I glanced at Cruz, indicating that he should take over. Interrogations aren’t really my thing.

“Ronnie, I’m Officer Cruz, with the LAPD. I’m not going to arrest you—yet. I just want to know what you saw the other night. Or...um...smelled.”

Ronnie’s eyes darted nervously back and forth between us. “So...he knows? About us?”

“Yes,” I assured him. “It’s okay.” His eyes didn’t leave my face, so I added, “Will knows all about it.”

He nodded then, turning back to Cruz. “Um...Well, I was running in the park,” he said uncertainly. “We do that sometimes, to stretch out. We go when the park’s closed, and we don’t hurt nobody.”

Cruz glanced at me with a question on his face.

“Their bodies have to change at the full moon,” I explained. “But most of them are strong enough to change a few other times during the month if they want to. It calms them.”

“Yeah. It helps.” Ronnie straightened up in his seat, a little more confident. “Anyway, I smelled blood, and it was strong. I had to go see what it was. And then I got close, and I felt something go by me, not too far.” He nodded at me. “It was you.”

“Right, after you came into the clearing,” I said.

“No, no.” He was shaking his head. “Before I got to the clearing. I was on my way, and I felt you go by, and I smelled the nothingness.”

“I smell?” I said, confused.

“No, you, like...You don’t smell, and everything else does. You’re a space in the smell.”

Huh. No one had told me.

“So, Ronnie,” Cruz broke in, “let me see if I understand this. You were on your way to the clearing, and you passed someone you thought was Scarlett, going in the other direction?”

“Yeah.”

“And then you came into the clearing, and you saw her and me.”

“Yeah...wait,” Ronnie said, wrinkling his forehead. “I didn’t think about that. I felt you going back the other way.”

“That’s not possible, Ronnie.”

“Yeah...So I guess it couldn’t have been you, right? Because I saw you right after that, and you were back in the clearing.” He gave a relieved laugh, relaxing down on his seat. “Christ, when I saw you come in the store, I thought you were here to kill me, too.”

“Wait, you actually thought I did that?” I blame sleep deprivation, but it actually took me that long to figure out what he’d meant.

“Well, yeah. We all know about you. I’ve been near you before at the bar. Who else would feel like that?”

Cruz and I locked eyes, and I suddenly felt very cold.

“Another null,” I said softly.





Chapter 9


The day I met Olivia was the day of my mom and dad’s funeral.

I hadn’t trusted my ability to drive, so I’d taken the train to Esperanza, feeling as if I were the main character in a movie that had suddenly switched genres. A week earlier, I’d been in a fun coming-of-age-in-college story. Suddenly, I was in a tragedy.

Jack picked me up at the station. He was obviously trying to look strong, but his eyes matched his scraggly red hair. At a little over six feet, my brother didn’t exactly tower over me, but he seemed huge and awkward as I walked up, unsure if he should go for a hug or a cheek peck or just take my overnight bag and march off. I dropped the bag and stepped into his arms. I’m all for feminism, but there’s something primal and comforting about being engulfed by someone bigger than you. When I pulled away, there were wet spots on his dark-blue button-down. I must have looked embarrassed, because he gave a little it’s nothing shrug and picked up my bag.

I can’t remember anything about the funeral home or the service, or how I got to the cemetery. It was like one minute I was leaving the station with Jack, then there was a blur of tears, and then we were looking down at the coffins as they were lowered into the earth. I kept thinking they weren’t just holes in the ground, they were holes in the world. Like once there was a space that was occupied by my mom and dad, and then that space had been violently punched out, leaving a raw hole with ragged edges. The whole world must be full of scars, I thought dizzily. I was only eighteen.

Then a pretty woman picked her way across the grass in very high heels and handed me an old-fashioned linen handkerchief. She was in her mid-forties, with long chestnut hair and elegant makeup. Her blue eyes looked sharp enough to cut through you, and she had a five-inch scar running across her collarbone, which was exposed by a gray dress that was simple, but extremely expensive-looking, and tailored to her lean, angular frame. She was neither pretty nor ugly, but sort of haunting. Someone you’d remember.