Undead Girl Gang(17)
“No.” He leans toward me, his face open and imploring. “No, you can’t think like that. You can’t blame yourself for her death. Don’t even think it for a second.”
He reaches into the foot of propriety between us and scoops up my hand. His fingers brush against the elastic on my wrist, scorching my skin. I swallow, hypnotized by a half-healed scratch on the curve of his thumb. Paper cuts are as common at Fairmont as racism and Adderall addictions. But the line is jagged and swollen, an odd imperfection against his flawless white skin. His hand squeezes mine, and I can feel myself shiver from the tips of my boots all the way to the roots of my hair.
Focus on his giant forehead, I tell myself. It’s large enough to almost be a flaw. But it’s also ample space for a single lock of hair to coil seductively. Fuck. I wonder if I rubbed my face against his face, memorizing the texture of his skin and the curve of his bones, if I could finally shake loose from this pathological jonesing. Or would the flames roar higher and swallow my entire life?
“Mila,” he says, branding this moment to my brain forever. What is it about hearing your name on the lips of your crush that makes it seem like an utterly new sound? In Xander’s mouth, my name is a dark flower blooming. “You were the best friend my sister ever had. She was so lucky to have you.”
The idea settles over me, a drizzle of ice water that turns to a downpour. Thank you, Alexander Greenway, for finding the off-switch to my lust—good old-fashioned guilt. Here I am, sitting on my dead best friend’s bed, being comforted by her grieving, tortured older brother, and I’m trying to write a letter to Penthouse in my head?
“Thank you,” I whisper, sneaking my hand out of his grip. I finger the elastic band, longing to give it a tug. “I really needed to hear that. I just . . . I miss her so much. Every place I go without her is worse because she’s not there. She should be here and at Yarrow House and at school. And when she’s not, I feel like it makes me shittier. I’ve been totally unbearable to be around.”
“I doubt that.” He kicks one of my boots with his toes. “I’m bearing it pretty okay, I think.”
“Then you’re immune to my venom.”
“Maybe I’ve got too much venom of my own.”
I smile at him. I can’t help it. Xander is so the opposite of me. He has that alluring Greenway personality that makes people want to be near him even when they can’t pinpoint why. People are literally drawn to him, to his easy smile and winking blue eyes.
He’s not a fat witch who freaks out his own family. Dr. Miller would never be snotty with him. She literally begged to treat him, while I walked out of her office with zero complaints.
I glance around the room. Riley wasn’t the neatest person, but Mrs. Greenway is one of those moms who snoops and tidies in equal measure, and she was always on constant high alert for anything that could be vaguely magical.
“She’s already starting to throw it out,” Xander says, following my gaze. “The first load has already gone to Goodwill.”
I snap my attention back to him. “Seriously?”
“You know my mom.” He sighs. “Now that no one is using it, it’s clutter. It’s not right. It’s like she’s erasing Riley, one box at a time. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen. She and my dad are at a service right now, so if there’s anything you want—” He pauses and jumps to his feet. “Wait here for a second, okay?”
I blink up at him, startled. “Okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Great.” He smiles like he really means it, like my words are a strike of genuine pleasure. Then he darts out of the room.
I jump to my feet, deciding to grab the oddest memorabilia while I’m alone. The trash can is empty, ruling out nail clippings or used tissues. There is a hairbrush small enough to fit into one of the sandwich bags I brought. I don’t know how much of Riley’s physical body is enough for the spell—there’s no measurement included in the list of ingredients. I grab a pot of Carmex and a tube of expensive lip gloss that I don’t recognize and a chewed pencil covered in washi tape that we decorated the week before school started. I hope her travel toothbrush is in the bathroom. I think the family would notice if I stole her Sonicare.
Xander reappears in the doorway, and for once I can’t focus on his handsome face or tight muscles. A silver chain dangles from his fingers. The pendant, a blush-pink piece of quartz shaped into a point, moves in tiny circles. It’s a punch to the gut seeing it anywhere except on Riley. She was literally never without it. It was the first thing I noticed about her when we met. Every day, no matter what other jewelry she was wearing or what outfit she was in, the rose quartz was around her neck. She had purchased it from a street fair and blessed it herself. It was the first magical object she ever owned and the only one she was allowed to keep in the house. She’d convinced the pastor at church to explain to her parents that there was nothing inherently Satanic about quartz.
Not that Wicca and Satanism are anything alike, but there’s no convincing Mr. and Mrs. Greenway of that.
“My parents didn’t want her buried in it,” Xander says, walking toward me and holding the necklace out. “Pagan jewelry, Christian burial. It’s bullshit, and she’d be pissed if she knew, but . . .”
He’s offering it to me, I realize.