Tags:
Fiction,
Paranormal,
YA),
Mystery,
Young Adult Fiction,
Young Adult,
Murder,
teen fiction,
ya fiction,
goth,
Paranormal Young Adult,
Thorn,
Thorn series,
goth girl mystery
will.â
âIâm sure he will. Be a good little girl and go tattle to him.â
âYou want to get rid of me and it wonât work.â
âYour obsession with me is flattering, but youâre not my type.â
âEgotistical jerks arenât my type,â I retort. And I canât believe I ever thought Wiley was hot (Iâm ninety-five percent sure thatâs who this is). Heâs smug and too sure of himself. Heâs purposely baiting me because he wants me to leave so he can ditch his Reaper clothes and retreat back into obscurity.
âShouldnât you report me?â he taunts. âWhat if I planted a bomb on his bus?â
âDid you?â I demand.
He shrugs. âFind out for yourself. Or wait around for the big kaboom. Hurry, time is running out.â
I glare at him, then turn like Iâm going to leave. Mid-turn, I whirl back and lunge for him, hands reaching, grabbing the edge of his ski mask, pulling it off â¦
Revealing the Grin Reaper.
E l e v e n
N ot Wiley, or even a Jay-Clone. Itâs the original.
âJay Blankenship!â I shout.
Iâm grinning as wide as his trademark smiley face. The infamous vigilante is the preppy, popular, egotistical son of the most respected judge in town. I love the irony! And Iâm going to love exposing him.
His dark eyes, even when glaring, are softer now than when viewed through a slit in a ski mask. His blond lashes are long, curled, and almost girly, at odds with the hard lines of his cheekbones. When Iâve seen him around school, he always has an arrogant lift to his chinâheâs handsome and he knows it. But up close, I can see the rough edges in his face and a small scar above his right eyebrow. Not so perfect now , I think.
âGive me my cap!â
âOf course,â I say. With exaggerated politeness, I hold it out. His murderous glare doesnât scare me.
He snatches the mask roughly, then shoves it into his pants pocket.
âArenât you going to put it back on to hide your identity?â I say, amused.
âThere are other ways,â he says mysteriously, peeling off his gloves and shoving them into his coat pocket.
Then he takes off the long coat and turns it inside outârevealing royal blue fabric hidden beneath the midnight black. He folds up the yards of excess fabric, transforming the concealing coat into his preppy letter jacket. He drapes it over his arm as if this is a new fashion style his Jay-clone followers will emulate. Whipping out a comb, he smooths back his blond hair, then parts it off-center, a wave falling across his forehead and softening the hard edges of his face. The Reaper is transformed back to the Prep.
Iâm not sure who disgusts me more, the smug rich kid or the vandal. I touch a stained corner of my backpackâa reminder of his theft and brutal actions.
âYou donât need to hide your identity anymore,â I say coolly.
âWhy not?â he demands.
âFigure it out.â
âAre you threatening to expose me?â
I give a thin smile. âThe word âthreatâ implies that I might not go through with it. But I will.â
He frowns. âYou canât tell anyone . â
âIâm going to tell everyone , â I say, as if making a solemn promise.
âThat would be a very bad idea.â
âPeople will want to know the truthâespecially your father.â
His brows knit together, his faint scar stretching like a scowl. âDonât you understand that Iâm helping people? Letâs talk this over.â
âI have nothing to talk about with you. But I have lots to tell the principal.â
âDonât do that.â He bites his lip. âPlease.â
âWhy shouldnât I?â
âBecause youâre not the hard-hearted bitch that some people think you are.â
âSweet-talking me wonât change my mind.â
âThen I
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