CHAPTER 21. Thanks for coming. Regan smoothed her black dress over her flat stomach

"Thanks for coming." Regan smoothed her black dress over her flat stomach. Her perfect blue eyes were red from crying, but her expression was pure strength and poise. Her mother stood beside the coffin, staring past all the headstones in a chemically induced oblivion. She was coping with Addy's death the only way she knew how—with pills, and alcohol, and seclusion. She hadn't left her house in nearly a week, and had only come out this time for the funeral. Because Regan made her.

"We wouldn't have missed it," Nash said, and I nodded. He spoke for us both.

Regan had made all the arrangements, choosing her sister's favorite flowers, music, and poetry, as well as the coffin and the plot. It was a lot of responsibility for a thirteen-year-old already devastated by her sister's death—her sacrifice—and it broke my heart that she'd had to rise to such a tragic occasion.

But she would be fine. The determined line of her jaw and straight length of her spine said that clearly. Whatever else happened, Regan Page would be just fine.

Addy had seen to that.

Regan glanced briefly at her mother, then at the crowd of paparazzi gathered behind a long barricade before returning her attention to me. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine now. Really," I added, when doubt flickered behind her mercifully real eyes.

The red webbing had faded from my skin by the time the sun went down the day Addy died, but it took three more days before the last of the pain abated. And the puncture marks around my ankle left scars—a double ring of bright red dots. I'd missed school for the rest of that week, but Harmony had only let Nash miss Thursday, and only because we'd been up all of Wednesday night.

And since I was well enough for the funeral, I would be returning to school on Monday.

Addy's service was private, but Regan got us in. Tod cried through the whole thing, but I think I was the only one who could see him. Addy's death nearly killed him. Again. Levi had given him a couple of weeks off, and was personally covering his hospital shifts. And we hadn't seen Tod once between that night and the funeral.

I think he was having a lot of trouble with the knowledge that Addison's soul was now the property of a hellion of greed, and that the rest of her existence would be spent in agonizing pain, of every possible variety.

I wasn't dealing with that very well, either. I'd really wanted to save her. And I would have plenty of time to think about my failure, because I was grounded for a solid month. My father was unmoved by our altruistic intentions. He considered nothing else on the face of the planet—or in either world—worth risking my life.

After he said that, I found it pretty hard to complain about being grounded, even though I would only see Nash at school and at bean sidhe lessons.

The only positive thing to come out of the whole mess—other than returning Regan's soul—was the fact that we were never fingered for the "break in" at Prime Life. Thank goodness. That one would have been impossible to explain to the cops. It was no picnic to explain to my dad, either.

"So, what are you going to do?" I leaned into Nash's chest for both comfort and warmth.

Regan shrugged and tucked a strand of blond hair behind her ear. "Take care of my mom, I guess. And stay far away from John Dekker."

I nodded. Regan had done us all proud. In honor of Addison's sacrifice, she'd already broken her contract with Dekker Media and was pursuing other acting opportunities. Rumor had it the Teen Network—Dekker's biggest competition—wanted her to do a pilot for them, but she wouldn't even accept their calls until she'd laid Addison to rest.

The fact that the wolves were already nipping at her heels made me wonder if anyone in the entertainment industry remained in possession of a soul.

As for Dekker Media, as far as I knew, they couldn't continue to provide souls for Avari without someone to ferry teenage stars to the Netherworld for them. So, for the moment at least, the adolescent population of Hollywood was secure. Though I still got a sick feeling every time I thought of all the soulless victims still waiting to suffer throughout the afterlife at Avari's hands.

But there was nothing I could do about that.

My dad said I couldn't save them all, and on my good days, I have to admit that he was right. Eventually, people have to learn to make their own choices, and to deal with the consequences.

Including me.

"I think that's your dad over there," Regan said, and I twisted to follow her gaze. Sure enough, my father—more handsome than ever in his dark suit—stood in front of his freshly washed car, waiting patiently for me.

"Yeah, I better go." I stepped away from Nash as Regan opened her arms to hug me.

"Thank you, Kaylee," she whispered into my ear, as she squeezed me so tight I could barely breathe. "Thank you so much." She sniffed, and her next words sounded thick, as if she were holding back more tears. "I won't forget what you did for me. What you helped Addy do."

I hugged her back, because I didn't know what to say.

No problem? But it was a problem. I'd nearly died.

Anyone else would have done the same? But that wasn't true, either.

I'd helped Addy and Regan because I couldn't not help them. Because in most cases, I believe that people deserve a second chance. And because I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd stood by and let them both die soulless, when I could have helped.

Finally, Regan stepped back and looked into my eyes, her own still brimming with tears. "I want you to know that I understand what Addy gave up for me. And I'm going to do my best to deserve it."

"I know you will." With that, I squeezed her hand, then turned toward Tod, who stared at the coffin from beneath the skeletal branches of a broad oak. I needed to talk to him before I left, because I wasn't sure when I'd see him next.

Or if Nash could see him at that moment. But then his hand stiffened on my arm when he saw where I was leading him, and I knew he could see his brother. "Kaylee, do we have to do this now? He's really hurting."

"So is Regan," I pointed out, and my free hand slid into the pocket of my formal black coat, bought just for Addy's funeral. "I have to know if he did this."

"Does it really matter?" Nash asked, and I looked up at him to find his eyes swirling slowly, though I couldn't quite identify the emotion. "What's done is done, and justice isn't always pretty. And, anyway, do you really want to know?"

"Yes. I need to hear it." Because part of me couldn't believe he'd actually done it.

Nash frowned, but tagged along. When we stopped beneath Tod's tree, Nash's body shielding us from the stragglers still loitering around the coffin, I pulled from my pocket a news clipping folded in half. "Do you know anything about this?"

Tod took the clipping and unfolded it. He couldn't have read more than the headline before handing it back to me, his face carefully blank, though rage churned violently in the cerulean depths of his eyes. The fact that I could see it surely meant he harbored it deep inside his soul. And that thought scared me.

"Kaylee, don't ask questions you don't want answered," the reaper said, his voice harder and more humorless than I'd ever heard it.

"You killed him," I accused, glancing at the headline for at least the fiftieth time.

BILLIONAIRE CEO MISSING; SISTER FEARS THE WORST

"No. Death is too good for John Dekker," Tod said without a hint of remorse. His ruthless expression gave me chills.

"Where is he?" Nash asked, when he realized his brother wasn't going to elaborate.

"I dropped him off in Avari's office."

My heart jumped into my throat, and suddenly I could hear my own pulse. "You stranded him in the Netherworld?"

The reaper shrugged. "A live plaything is rare on that side. They won't kill him."

"They'll do worse," I spat.

Tod cocked one eyebrow at me. "Does he deserve any less?"

I had to think about that. John Dekker had been responsible for dozens of teenagers losing their souls, and he'd worked to keep Addy and Regan from reclaiming theirs. Did he deserve any less than eternal torture?

Probably not. But that wasn't my call to make. The very thought of wielding so much power terrified me.

Though, it didn't seem to have bothered Tod.

"I can't believe you did that…."

"And yet you haven't asked me to bring him back." He ran one hand through his hair. "I think you have no trouble believing it. I think you wish you'd done it yourself."

"No." I shook my head, bothered by the spark of anger raging unchecked inside him. Was this why my father didn't want me hanging out with a reaper? Because, as he'd always insisted, Tod was dangerous?

I shook that thought off. It was too much to think about with Addy not yet in the ground, and my failure on her behalf haunting me. I took Nash's hand again and shoved the clipping deep into my pocket. "I have to go," I said, already turning toward my dad's car.

"Kaylee, just say it," Tod called after me, and I was glad no one else could hear him. Not even Nash, this time. I could tell from the relief on his face—he was happy to be walking away from his brother. "Say the word, and I'll bring him back. I'll rescue him from never-ending torture. It's your call…."

Hot, bitter tears filled my eyes, as horror filled my heart. It wasn't my call. He couldn't put a decision like that on me. It wasn't right.

Yet as I headed toward my father with my boyfriend at my side, my lips remained sealed, and I was more terrified than I could express by the thought of what my silence probably said about me, deep down inside.

My dad started his engine, and Nash kissed me gently before I sank into the front passenger seat. Then I tucked my skirt beneath me and he closed the car door. I put John Dekker and Tod out of my mind. Forced them to the back of my brain to make room for Nash.

I would only think about Nash. I trusted Nash. I loved him. I understood him, like I would never understand his brother.

Nash waved at me in the side-view mirror as our car pulled forward slowly, my father carefully avoiding stray members of the press. I leaned with my head against the cold window, watching as his image grew smaller and smaller in the mirror. Trying not to think about how long it would be before we could be alone together again.

Three weeks, five days, and four hours until my grounding ends.

Three weeks, five days, four hours, and fifty-four seconds. Fifty-three seconds…Fifty-two seconds…

But who's counting?