âWell, look who survived her own demise.â
âWhat the hell are you doing here, Thane?â And how had he escaped Avari, the hellion Tod had given him to?
âThis is all your fault, little miss wonât-stay-dead. You and that blond reaperâ¦â
Chills crawled up my arms. âWhatâs my fault? Whatâs coming?â
A slow, creepy smile spread over his face. âUntil next time, little bean sidheâ¦â
âNo!â I realised he was about to blink out of the alley and, in my desperation to take the soul he carried before he left, I accidentally unleashed my bean sidhe wail at full power.
Top volume.
Praise for RACHEL VINCENTâS
SOUL SCREAMERS series
âunputdownableâ âShout
âa fantastic fun-filled rush of a bookâ
âGirls Without a Bookshelf
âYouâve got to love it when a series gets better
with each book.â âYA Book Reads
âTwilight fans will love itâ âKirkus Reviews
âAwesome with a side of awesomeâ âMostly Reading YA
âIâm so excited about this series.â âThe Eclectic Book Lover
âA book like this is one of the reasons that I add authors
to my auto-buy list.â âTeensReadToo.com
Also available fromRachel Vincent
Published by
Soul Screamers
MY SOUL TO TAKE
MY SOUL TO SAVE
MY SOUL TO KEEP
MY SOUL TO STEAL
IF I DIE
NEVER TO SLEEP
(e-book exclusive)
To find out more about Rachel, head to www.miraink.co.uk
This is for every reader whoâs ever stayed up too late to read just one more chapter.
For every reader with a paperback in a purse, or backpack, or glove compartment. For everyone with an ebook on a phone, or tablet, or laptop. For everyone listening to an audio book in the car, at the gym, or on the train.
This is for every reader the librarians know by name.
For everyone whoâs ever said, âYou have to read this!â
Thank you all so much for making Kaylee and her friends a part of your lives.
Thanks first of all to my husband, who puts up with the mental fog I walk around in midbook.
Thanks to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for endless advice and patience.
Thanks to everyone at MIRA Inkâ¢, for everything done behind the scenes to make this book happen. That is truly an enormous list.
Thanks to my agent, Merrilee Heifetz, who made this book possible.
And a special thanks to Karen Shangraw, who brought Kayleeâs guidance counselor to life.
I WAS A VIRGIN SACRIFICE. AND YEAH, ITâS JUST as creepy as it sounds. I died on a Thursday, at twenty-seven minutes after midnight, killed by a monster intent on stealing my soul. The good news? He didnât get it. The bad news? Turns out not even death will get you out of high schoolâ¦.
Iâve always hated Mondays, but this particular Monday, a beautiful day in late April, seemed ready to deliver its very own brand of hell. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror at seven-thirty in the morning, staring at myself, trying to decide exactly how alive I should look. In the movies, people are always faking their own deaths, but I couldnât think of anyone elseâreal or fictionalâwhoâd faked survival. Iâd have to blaze this trail all on my own.
How pale would a person look twenty-nine days after being stabbed to death? That would depend on the severity of the wound, right? On the number of organs injured? On the amount of blood lost? Since no one at school knew any of those details, they wouldnât know if my performance was off. So I could play the part however I wanted. Right?
No one had to know that my pale skin and sweaty palms were really the result of a colossal case of first-day-back nerves.
My stomach churned as I stared at my reflection, wondering how I could possibly feel so different, yet look exactly the same as I had before I died, except for the new scar. Exactly the same as I would look next year, and the year after that, and a decade after that, and for as many centuries as my afterlife lasted.
âKaylee! Breakfast!â my father called from the kitchen.
âIâm dead, Dad,â I called back, dropping my hairbrush into the drawer. âI donât eat anymore.â
A minute later, my father appeared in the doorway in a grease-splattered T-shirt and jeans, frowning at me. âYou donât have to eat. That doesnât mean you shouldnât. I think youâd feel a lot better if you had something warm in your stomach.â
I turned and leaned against the counter, crossing my arms over my chest. âThatâs not really how it works.â
âNo arguments. I made pancakes and bacon. I want you at the table in five minutes.â
I sighed as his footsteps retreated toward the kitchen. He was trying. I wasnât sure what he was trying, but he was serious about it.
I crossed the hall into my room for a pair of shoes and blinked in surprise at the empty space at the center of my room, where the bed used to be. It had been four weeks since weâd gotten rid of the ruined mattress and sheets, and I still wasnât used to the new purple quilt that had replaced the blue comforter my psychotic math teacher had bled out on.
After my death, Iâd avoided my room for nearly a week until my father figured out what Iâd been too embarrassed to tell himâthat I couldnât go in there without seeing it all in my head. Reliving my own death.