Cinder by Jessica Sorensen Read Free Book Online Page A

as well, since he lets out a loud exhale the moment the door clicks shut.
     
    “Jesus, things are getting intense,” he says, turning around and leaning against the shut door.
     
    I don’t respond, looking around the vacant room with art on the walls, bare easels and paint supplies everywhere. I can’t stop my mind from wandering to thoughts of Asher and the first time we came so close to kissing in here.
     
    “Are you okay?” Mr. Morgan asks.
     
    I stand near the tables and face him. “Yeah,” I reply with hesitancy. “Although I’d like to know why you wanted to talk to me in here because I’m guessing it’s not about a project.”
     
    He stands up straight. “No, it’s not.” He takes a cautious step forward. “Tell me, how have you been doing through all this?”
     
    I shift uneasily, noting that he’s positioned himself between me and the door. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
     
    He points over his shoulder at the door. “The whole town going… well, a little berserk.”
     
    “Yeah, I’ve noticed things are a little…” I search for the correct word that would best describe the madness. “Strange.”
     
    “Strange might be a bit of an understatement. It’s like they’ve been taken over by some sort of…” He trails off, shaking his head. “And there are the murders and the strange disappearances.”
     
    I’m wary to say anything. We’ve barely exchanged more than twenty words and now suddenly he’s talking to me about the fact that the school looks like it’s been taken over by pod people.
     
    He sighs when I don’t answer him right away. “Look, Ember, I know we haven’t really talked, but I’d like to help you the best that I can. I know you’re friends with Asher. And I know you’re important to him.”
     
    I wonder if he knows I’m a Grim Angel. If he’s an Angel himself. I eye him over, deliberating if I can trust him or not, at least enough to ask. Then I come to the conclusion that it doesn’t really matter. If he’s after me, then he’s already got me trapped. If he’s not and just thinks I’m crazy, then he can be one more person I add to the list.
     
    “Are you… are you…” God, please don’t think I’m crazy . “Are you an Angel of Death, too?”
     
    He shakes his head, not startled. A good sign. “I wouldn’t be able to help you if I was, but I do know about them—Angels and Reapers. You .”
     
    “Because Asher told you?”
     
    He considers something very carefully. “More or less.”
     
    There’s more to it than what he’s telling me. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that he’s probably not going to tell me because he either can’t or wants to keep his secrets. “You said you were going to help me,” I say. “But how exactly? And from what?”
     
    His attention strays over my shoulder as he picks a chunk of clay off his shirt. “I’m going to help you the only way I know how, by giving you some advice.” He looks at me and when our eyes fasten, fear pulsates through me. I don’t know where it stems from, whether he’s scared and I’m sensing it, or if he’s simply scaring me. “Have you ever heard of something called a ambulate umbra ?”
     
    “No… why?”
     
    He yanks his fingers through his hair, leaving it sticking up. Then someone bangs on the door and moments later a face appears in the small window at the top. Their eyes are bleeding, seeping out like rain and splattering across the glass. I glance back and forth between the dead person and the Mr., wondering if he can see it, but he continues on with the conversation, unbothered.
     
    “The problem is, I have no idea where it is…” He keeps talking, his hand falling to the side, his brows dipping together. “Or who even has it.”
     
    I hitch my finger under the handle of my bag, adjusting it higher on my shoulder as I watch him pace back and forth in front me. “What is it exactly?” My eyes widen as the door creaks open and