Death is My BFF (The Death Chronicles Book 1)

A nudge to my arm woke me. I was nestled on the living room couch, wrapped in a plush blanket. The heaviness of a deep sleep fluttered away from my vision, revealing a face I’d missed far too much.

“Mom?”

“Hey, sleepyhead.” She knelt at my side with a tan glow from the island sun. Mom had thick straight blond hair, layered just above her shoulders, and cerulean blue eyes. The comforting, familiar scent of her favorite lavender lotion enveloped me.

“You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you. Dad and I brought you—”

I pulled her into a constricted hug.

“Aw, my baby. Is everything okay?”

Not even a little bit. “I missed you.” I hid the unease in my voice as I pulled away from her. “You look great, Mom. I must look like a bottle of Wite-Out compared to you.” I did a quick visual sweep of the room. “Where’s Dad?”

“Oh, you know your father. He insisted on unpacking the whole car in one trip.” She scanned my features. “We missed you, baby.

I tried to call you when we arrived at the airport, but your phone kept going straight to voicemail.” She beamed. “Which reminds me!

Don’t you have a secret to tell me?”

My heartbeat picked up. “A secret?”

“As we were waiting for our flight, I saw this magazine,” she started chirpily, until her eyes widened and clung to a spot on my arm. “What happened here?”

A fading pink line ran down my forearm. It wasn’t raised enough to be a scar and appeared to be more like a graze. My thoughts circled back to the demon that attacked me in the alleyway, the memory of its scalpel-like talon slicing through my flesh. “Oh, that,” I said with a hard swallow. “I, um, went for a hike.”

Mom looked at me as if I had three heads. “Since when do you like nature?”

“I was in a car accident last week,” I blurted. Idiot, idiot, idiot!

“I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Before she exploded, I rambled on, “But it wasn’t my fault, and the other driver offered to fix it. It’s all being taken care of.”

“Did you exchange insurance information? Why on earth didn’t you call us?”

On cue, a lobster version of my dad entered the house. He wore a bright-green Hawaiian shirt and held a cluster of bags. Dad was a few inches taller than Mom and me, with dark-auburn hair and a lean build from cycling. He flipped up his square sunglasses onto his head without using his hands, revealing an awful tan line around his eyes. “Aloha, sweetheart! TGIF!”

“Aloha, Dad. Are you good? You look a little . . . ”

“Sun poisoned? Probably. Sunscreen is for sissies.” He raised the huge load of bags on his arms. “Look, one trip! I still got it!” He caught Mom’s expression and lowered the luggage, wincing as the straps rolled down his pink arms. “What’s the matter, honey?”

“Our daughter was in a car accident.”

Dad tucked his sunglasses into his shirt pocket with a frown.

“Really? Her car looks fine to me.”

I sat up straighter. “Wait, my car is in the driveway?”

“Should it not be?” Dad asked. “You left your interior lights on, by the way.”

Blood rushed to my ears. I hadn’t seen my car since the accident with Devin Star a week ago, and now it was in the driveway? I got up and hurried to the window, parting the blinds. Sure enough, my car was there. But it wasn’t in my habitual parking spot and faced away from the house, which brought me a little relief, because that meant someone else had parked it. Maybe I wasn’t as crazy as I thought.

“I’m confused,” Mom said.

“So am I,” Dad agreed.

“I can explain.” I tried to make up another lie and hide the hysteria in my voice. “It was Marcy’s car, not mine.”

Mom cupped a hand over her mouth. “Is Marcy okay? Is she hurt?” She patted the pockets of her jeans, frantically searching for her cell. “I should call her father. Where’s my dang phone . . . ?”

“No, please, you really don’t have to do that.” Marcy hadn’t told her father about the accident or the party we attended that night.

The last thing I needed was for Marcy to be grounded for a month again without her grandpa’s gold card to go shopping. Marcy was scary without her gold card.

“Marcy is perfectly fine. We’re both fine. Just a few bumps and scratches. With all my honor’s work for school and,” supernatural events and/or possible nightmares involving a murderous yet sexy Grim

Reaper and venomous demons, “other minor stressors,” I decided to say instead, “I totally forgot to text you about it. I’m so sorry.”

Mom looked visibly relieved. “Okay, I’m glad both of you girls are all right . . . ”

“I’m not surprised Marcy got in an accident,” Dad said. “That girl has never been good at steering things. Remember her infamous scooter accident a few years back? Cost us an arm and a leg to get the garage door fixed.”

“Henry,” Mom scolded. “Marcy got a terrible concussion from that.”

“Hey, I never said she deserved it. She didn’t, but neither did my door. Why don’t we unpack and show Faith all the presents we brought her?”

“You guys didn’t need to get me anything,” I muttered.

Mom rubbed my shoulder. “Of course, we did, sweetie. Next time we go to Hawaii, you’re coming with us. We missed you way too much!” She tucked her hair behind one ear with a coy smile.

“Now, don’t you have something to tell me? Something that maybe happened while we were away?”

“Nope.” I looked to the side. “Nothing at all.”

“We heard you went on a date,” she cooed. “With David Star.”

“Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Right before my eyes, a teenage fangirl possessed my mother. “Remember when your father waited in line for eight hours to get Devin Star to sign his modeling calendar for my birthday?”

Dad stared into the oblivion, as if reliving the traumatic experience.

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d do this,” I said, gesturing at her giddy self with my hand for emphasis.

“And impulsively buy Skittles another Devin Star catnip mouse toy,” Dad chimed in.

Mom narrowed her eyes at Dad. “That cat toy was high-quality material, Henry.”

“It was polyester.”

“Entertaining is what it was. Skittles loves that toy!”

“Skittles would love a paperclip if you attached it to a piece of string and snaked it around the carpet,” Dad argued.

“Yoo-hoo,” I said, snapping my fingers and directing their attention back to me. “Yes, hello. Your only child is standing here and would rather not hear your bickering. If you must know, I didn’t exactly plan on going out with David.”

Mom’s shaped eyebrows scrunched together. “How did you two even meet?”

“How did you know we went on a date?” I countered.

“There was a delay at the airport, so I picked up a magazine to read.” Mom leafed through her purse, bouncing a little on her feet with glee. “Imagine my surprise when I found these!”

She held out glossy copies of three popular magazines. On the cover of each magazine were various shots of David and I walking, smiling, laughing. David looked like a sex god strutting down the runway in his baseball cap, leather jacket, white T-shirt, and medium wash jeans, whereas I looked like an angsty buffoon in hand-me-down clothing. He was amused in a relaxed way, whereas I was mid–ugly laugh with my eyes squeezed shut. As if it couldn’t get any worse, there was a little photo of me shoving a hot dog down my face in the corner of one of the issues.

“Oh, no, no, no, no!” I grabbed the various magazines and read the headlines beneath each cover photo, horrified.

David Star: The secret love life of New York’s finest bachelor. Who IS she?

David Star: America’s hottest celebrity meets cute goth girl next door.

And she loves hot dogs. Is Jr. Star down for that?

David Star: “I can be myself when I’m with her.”

“He was quoted!” I yelled.

“They called you cute,” Mom gushed, as I furiously flipped to the article from the last magazine. She grabbed one of the weeklies and frowned at the photo of me engulfing half a hot dog. “Hmm.

Well, that one’s a little inappropriate.”

I honed in on the article, then quickly snapped the gossip magazine shut. David was quoted, which meant he knew these pictures were leaked and hadn’t told me. It also meant he was feeding into this stuff by not denying we were dating.

“Have you kissed?” Mom asked.

“Lisa.” My father grimaced, but Mom corralled me with questions.

“What was the date like? Did he pay? Was he well-mannered? Is he funny? I have to call Aunt Sarah, she’ll be so excited to hear you have a celebrity boyfriend! Unless you told her already?”

“Mom, he’s not my boyfriend.”

“If he breaks your heart, I’ll kill him,” Dad said, scowling at the magazine over my shoulder. “I don’t care how famous or pretty he is.

Say the word and I’ll make him disappear, pumpkin.”

Mom glared. “Henry!”

“What? I’m obviously kidding.” Dad kissed the top of my head and whispered, “Just say the word, I know a guy.”

“What if a student from your high school leaks your name and paparazzi come to the house?” Mom paced the living room back and forth. “The house is not in any condition to be filmed in for an interview— oh!” She spun toward us and plastered her hands on either side of her face. “What if David comes over for dinner? What if he invites his father? What if they see our unfinished bathroom, Henry? Henry, the unfinished bathroom.”

As my mother went on, I crept out of the living room and locked myself in my room. At least I knew my date with David had been real.

Honestly, I felt so uncomfortable that he had fed into this gossip. I got wrapped up in his charming smile and hadn’t considered how his chaotic celebrity life could affect me after that carnival date. Now not only were demonic creatures after me, so were the paparazzi.

I think I prefer the demons over the paparazzi.

I probed the pink scratch on my forearm. The gash on my arm, the slashes on my leg from the angel’s wings had disappeared. My fingers drifted to my neck, where Death’s monstrous gloved hand once clutched my throat. There was no trace of the events at the D&S Tower and the warehouse. Had it all been a nightmare?

Decompressing the whirlwind of thoughts racing through my mind was like trying to hit off a broken tennis ball machine on rapid fire.

David’s Chicago Bears jersey was nowhere to be seen, and I now wore an oversized nightshirt, which I couldn’t remember putting on. Pulling it up revealed the same bra and underwear I’d worn to David’s office. They were still a little damp from the rain too. I lifted the nightshirt to my nose and inhaled.

The faintest scent of cherries.

“Oh my God.”

Death had staged my sleeping spot on the couch!

Which meant he’d wiped the blood off me. I hurried into my bathroom and flipped on the light. The noxious scent of bleach hit my nostrils as I approached the tub. Suddenly there were phantom hands washing away the blood and grime on my bare skin, rolling a fresh shirt over my head. A shudder rippled through me. I remembered Death’s silken voice in my ear, strangely asking me to invite him into my house, and my weak response, yes. Why did he care to cover up the tracks of this night?

My cheeks pinked in the mirror at the embarrassing thought that the Grim Reaper had seen me in my bra and underwear. Up close and personal. Better than having to explain a gallon of blood splattered on someone else’s clothes to my parents.

I wandered back into my room and peered around, soaking in the bedroom as if I were Death seeing it for the first time. Stuffed animals and old pictures from my childhood lined the top shelf beside my bed, trophies from softball and a few art competitions.

What did the seven-foot-tall Grinch in a cloak think of my band posters, my fluffy body pillow, or my old teddy bear, Mr. Wiggles?

Not to mention, my latest additions to the family: Boggy the Froggy and Maddox the Penguin. Did he analyze my paintings lining the walls, or did he overlook it all?

Why did I care what Death thought of me? I had nothing to prove to him. He wasn’t exactly shooting trust vibes out of his deadly pores, and the guy had wiped out an entire species of bird in five seconds. The Grim Reaper didn’t care about my little universe.

Especially after what happened in the warehouse.

Removing the rest of my clothes, I stepped under the hot spray of the shower and lathered my skin with my favorite watermelon and blue raspberry body washes.

The angel crashing through the office, the alleyway, the raven demigod, and the warehouse were real. So was the vision with the boy with the mismatched eyes and the willow tree, where that deceptive creature, Ahrimad, had tricked young Death.

. . . you would be far greater than loved. You would be feared. Feared by all.

Ahrimad had been forced to offer Alexandru an equal exchange to saving his life, an opportunity to have all his dark power. Because of a balance. A balance between good and evil.

All of the fantastical happenings in my life were turning out to not be so fantastical, after all.

And I still had to go to school on Monday.

My shower thoughts jumped to David. Everything seemed to circle back to him in my mind. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been restraining that angel in his office and told me to run. An angel, which David hadn’t even seemed that surprised to see!

Then, a little too conveniently, Death showed up to save me. I drew comparisons between David and Death. The way they stood.

Their personalities. Their mannerisms. They were so different.

Where David’s voice was deep and masculine, like a normal human man’s, Death’s was deep and masculine in a profoundly enchanting inhuman way. In an instant, his voice had the ability to switch from a menacing growl to a velvety purr.

Based on the apparent younger Death I’d seen glimpses of the two men had vastly different appearances too.

The water ran cold. Quickly washing the rest of my body, I slipped on another oversized cotton shirt and anxiously reorganized my makeup on my vanity. I wished I had my phone to text David. I couldn’t shake his interest in me, and I was starting to think it wasn’t just poor self-esteem. How had he restrained that angel in his office without breaking a sweat? He always dodged every personal question about himself and didn’t have one picture of his family in his office.

There was no way in hell I was going to get any sleep. I decided to write down my thoughts, so I wouldn’t forget them, which I hadn’t done since freshman year of high school. I slid out an untouched journal from under my bed that my grandma had given me for Christmas and armed myself with a purple gel pen.

I began to write, staining the pages in hectic sentences, when I felt eyes at the back of my head. Skittles jumped up onto the vanity and hissed at something behind me. I caught a large shadow in the mirror and whirled around with a gasp. Empty. The room was empty, but a trace of him remained. Cherries.

My cell phone. My cell phone was now on my bed. It had suffered further damage. Prying my feet from the ground, I crossed the room and picked up the device with a trembling hand. Beneath it was a note.

Tick-tock.

—D

A cold breeze turned my blood to ice. The window was open.

I hurried to yank the panel down, staring out into the night with a thrashing heart.

I felt it stare back.