We’d made up quickly. We’d always made up quickly. We were sisters of heart rather than blood. But as much as I love those flashbacks of our lives together, I wish they’d stop. My heartache is almost unbearable. And if I feel this way, even though Cole soothes me—even though I occasionally interact with Kat’s spirit—Frosty has to be falling down a pit of never-ending despair. His only source of comfort has been taken away.
Crap! I need a sec to wipe my eyes. Got dirt in them...or something.
An indisputable fact: Frosty loves Kat the way I love Cole. All-encompassing, all-consuming, nothing held back—forever. I’ve heard him say he has nothing to live for, that death would bring him peace.
He’s never been more wrong. He also can’t go on like this. I’ve seen a glimpse of the future, and it isn’t pretty.
The worst is yet to come.
We thought we’d won the war against Anima. We thought wrong. And how freaking sad is that? During our last battle, we lost six of our closest friends, and only consoled ourselves with Anima’s defeat, certain they’d never again hurt another living soul. We should have known the company would rise from the grave just like the zombies they helped create.
Together we slayers must stand. Or one by one we will fall.
We have to— Argh! Kat! Did I forget to mention she’s a witness now? When she died, her spirit went up. She lives in a spirit realm with my biological mom, Helen, and my little sister, Emma. They watch over us, cheering us on and even helping when they can. Sometimes they’re even allowed to visit with me.
I can see and hear them while other slayers cannot. Yes, I did the sweet thing and shared the ability with every member of my crew—another ability to add to my résumé—but soon after, everyone lost it. Just boom, it was gone.
Emma once told me, her voice ominous, “There can be only one,” before she burst out laughing. She then added, “You slayers...you operate in the spirit realm, where faith is your only source of strength. Some of your abilities require more faith than others and right now, only yours is strong enough to see us. Yes, we can help the others out and reveal ourselves through faith of our own, but we need permission from the Supreme Judge for that.”
An-n-nd Kat is now snapping her fingers in front of my face. She won’t stop talking, even though I’ve told her a thousand times she’s probably the worst witness ever, always focused on her— Ow! She’s found a way to pinch my spirit inside my body.
She wants me to add that we slayers will do whatever it takes to save Frosty. And by “whatever,” I mean “whatever.” We have to find a way to reach him before it’s too late. And we will.
Did you hear that, Kat? We will.
We’ll strive for the best...but plan for the worst.
Ow! And save Frosty. Yes, yes. I get it. They get it.
Let your light shine,
Ali Bell
Ow! And Kat Parker
I crawl out of bed like I’m one of the walking dead and rub my gritty eyes. My temples throb, and my mouth tastes like something furry crawled inside, nested, had babies and died. I’m on my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth with a gallon of bleach when I realize my surroundings are unfamiliar. Ignoring a flood of dizziness, I scan a bedroom that has pictures of flowers hanging on pink walls, sparkly shirts and skirts spilling from an oversized closet and a vanity scattered with a thousand different kinds of makeup.
Not exactly my style.
A sleepy sigh draws my attention to the bed, and memories rush in fast. I spent the night with a girl—the newest in a long line of randoms I’ve selected for one reason and one reason only. A resemblance to Kat. This particular hookup has dark hair and sun-kissed skin...or so I thought. Now, in the bright light of the morning, I see the strands aren’t quite dark enough and her skin is more sun-screwed.
My stomach clenches, and my hands curl into fists as hard as hammerheads. Usually I leave two seconds after the deed is done. Just enough time to zip my pants. What can I say? I’m a class A dick. But at least I’m at the top of my field. Counts for something, right?
I hate the things I’m doing, but I won’t stop doing them. I’m not sure I can. After a few shots of whiskey, I’m able to pretend the girl I’m with is my sweet little Kitty Kat, and I’m touching her again and she’s loving it, begging me for more, and everything will be okay, because we’ll be together forever. I imagine she’ll cuddle close afterward and say things like, “You’re the luckiest guy in the world and you don’t deserve me, but don’t worry, no one does,” and I’ll laugh, because she’s ridiculous and adorable and everything right in my world. In the morning, she’ll demand I apologize for doing bad things in her dreams.
She’ll make my life worth living.
Then morning will actually arrive, and I’ll realize she won’t be doing any of those things because she’s dead, and I’m the puss who couldn’t save her. A fact that still haunts me. But I deserve to be haunted. I deserve to be punished.
Kat deserved my loyalty until the very end—my end. And this crap? I’m cheating on her memory with girls I don’t know, don’t even like, and will always resent. They’re not my Kat, they’ll never be my Kat and they have no right to put their hands on her property.