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FORGIVEN

By Gina Detwiler

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"Where We Come Alive"

GRACE

It’s weird, being back in New York. I didn’t want to come, but I also didn’t want to disappoint Ethan. His video game, The Wrath of the Watchers, is being launched at GAME-ON, the biggest video game convention on the planet—or so he says. And since our quest to kill a Watcher was the inspiration for the game in the first place, Jared and I decided we had to be there.
We drove to New York in the “new” PsychoVan, Ralph’s latest customized Chevy that might be a decade or two newer than the last one. It’s been a long time since Ralph let us go to such a public event. Maybe he trusts us more now. Or maybe our enemies have moved on to easier prey.
Ralph—always concerned about our safety—booked us rooms at a funky little hotel in the Meatpacking District, near where the convention is being held. Ralph is sort of Jared’s dad but not really. He knows the hotel owner, who promised to keep our presence a secret. That’s necessary because a lot of Forlorn/Jared Lorn nut jobs are still out there. There have been Grace Fortune and Jared Lorn sightings on every continent since the demise of Lester Crow and Blood Moon, except maybe Antarctica. But I’m sure that’s only a matter of time.
The hotel is pretty bizarre. The furniture in the lobby is straight out of a turn-of-the-century brothel. A giant disco ball hangs from the ceiling. The bellhop wears a monkey hat like in the old movies, and the wooden calendar behind the counter reads “May 35.” The May part is right, anyway. We’re far enough away from my mother’s old stomping grounds on the Upper West Side that I feel relatively safe—even though my mother now lives on the West Coast with her mega-preacher husband Harry Ravel.
The event is scheduled for tonight at six p.m. The guests are encouraged to dress as characters from their favorite video game. Jared and I will be disguised as Watchers.
Go figure.
Bree and Ethan were already checked in when we arrived this afternoon. It’s been months since I last saw my best friend, Bree. She transferred to Ithaca for her sophomore year. She said she did it because they offered a better program in Music Education, but I knew she wanted to be closer to Ethan, who attends Cornell. Those two are pretty serious about each other, despite the fact that they don’t seem to get along.
We hugged a lot and caught up on each others’ lives. Bree has graduated from Disney princess to preppy college girl, and Ethan is no longer a high school dork with frizzy hair and coke-bottle glasses. His hair is short and a smudge on his chin threatens to become a beard. Compared to them, Jared and I haven’t changed at all. Except I’ve dyed my hair black, more for camouflage than anything else.
“What’s with the hair?” Bree asked, staring at me. “It seriously doesn’t work with your complexion. Way too Goth.”
“What color should I do?”
“IDK. Pink? Blue might be nice.”
“I like it.” Jared defended my choice.
“You would, weirdo,” said Bree.
I’ve missed her. And yet there is something strange between us too, a chasm too wide to cross. She’s moved on with her life, made new friends, had all kinds of new experiences. I have stayed where I was. No college, no real job, other than writing music. No plans either. I worry we won’t have much to talk about, once the “catching up” part is over.
We order up our favorites from room service—chicken nuggets and fries, salad for Bree—still a vegetarian—and a hamburger for Ethan. But he can’t eat, he’s so nervous about the launch.
“They have this huge screen,” he says. “And they made this awesome trailer and there’s a band and everything. People from all over the country—the world—will be there. Every gaming professional. Journalists. Bloggers. Reviewers.” He puts both hands on top of his head. “What if it sucks?”
“It doesn’t suck,” I say. “How could it? You’re a genius.”
“I’m a fraud!” Ethan throws himself face-down on the couch.
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Bree drops her French fry and goes to talk to him. I’ve never seen this side of Ethan before.
“He’s having a nervous breakdown,” I say.
“He’s always been wound a little tight.” Jared shakes his head and smiles.
Once Ethan calms down, Bree and I go to our room to change into our costumes. Mine is classic Grim Reaper—a long black robe with a wide hood. Not terribly creative. Bree’ silky black gown with wide lace sleeves makes her look a little like a very pretty and fashionable Bride of Frankenstein.
“This won’t fool anybody.” I stare at myself in the mirror. “Shouldn’t we have masks?”
“Makeup is better. I found a great design, and I brought all the supplies.”
“I’m not sure this is a good idea, wearing a demon costume. It seems like it would invite the wrong sort of spirits.”
“Hiding in plain sight, remember? Your demon friends won’t be able to tell the difference between you and the rest of the crowd.”
“Still…”
“Relax, Grace. It’ll be fine. You should quit worrying about all that angel-demon stuff, anyway.”
Quit worrying? Has she totally forgotten all that’s happened to us? Maybe she has. She lives in a different world now.
“How’s your dad?” she asks as she does her makeup at the bathroom mirror. I stand in the doorway and watch—Bree’s an artist with an eyebrow pencil.
“He’s okay. Cancer’s in remission. The doctors say it could last for months. Years even. He goes for scans every three months. That’s nerve wracking. But so far, so good.”
“Cool. I saw that your stepdad Harry Ravel is running for governor of California.”
“Ugh. Don’t call him that. But yes, that’s true.” The thought of my mother becoming First Lady of California turns my insides out.
“He’s leading in the polls too. Everyone says he’ll win.”
“Yeah. He promised to balance the budget, and she promised to kill all the vampires.”
We both laugh.
“You and Jared…okay?”
“Oh yeah. Sure.”
“Any…plans?”
“Like what?”
“To get married?”
“Are you kidding?”
She turns to face me. “No, I’m not. Haven’t you talked about it?”
“We can’t get married. He’s a…you know what he is.”
“What difference does that make? You love each other, right?”
“Yeah, but think about it. In twenty years, I’ll be forty and he’ll still look like a teenager. Not to mention all the other issues.”
“What other issues?”
“You know what other issues! We could never have a normal marriage like other people.”
“Why not? I mean, what if you’re wrong?”
“Excuse me?”
“About the curse. What if all those bad things you think will happen don’t? I mean, things have changed. Jared’s not the same as he was. Neither are you.”
I don’t tell her how often I’ve thought of it. Jared and I married and living together in some cottage in the country with a couple of kids—adopted, of course—a dog, a cat, maybe even a goldfish. But then I get to the part about me being an old lady and him still being young and beautiful, and it grosses me out.
So where does that leave us? I try not to think about it. I pretend there is no future. I’m only twenty. Plenty of time.
“I heard your new song.” Bree starts to apply glittery black makeup to my face. “Only Human. Great title.”
“How did you know it was ours?” Jared and I don’t perform our own music anymore. We like being anonymous songwriters now.
“It’s obvious. You guys have a certain style. And theme. Everyone knows.”
“They do?”
“Of course, silly! Don’t you pay attention to social media?”
“I try not to.”
“I miss Forlorn,” she says wistfully. “Hey! I have an idea! We should do a reunion concert. Like the Stones.”
“We only did one concert in our whole career.”
“So?”
I laugh. “Sometimes I want to. But no, it would be impossible. Too much…collateral damage.”
Bree sighs and focuses on my makeup again. “How’s Penny?”
“Okay. She still has some trouble from the injury. It’s hard for her to remember things. She’s going to night school to finish her GED. Ralph wants her to go to college. She’s really smart, and she studies like crazy. More than I ever did.”
“And you still don’t want to go to college?”
“I’ve thought about it. But going to a school, to actual classes with all those people…it’s not for me. Maybe I’ll try an online course in something.”
“Grace, you’re becoming a hermit.” Her voice drips reproach.
“Hey, I’m here, right? In New York City, about to attend a public event?”
“In disguise.”
“Well, I’m still going.”
She sighs, gives up the argument, and finishes my makeup. I look in the mirror and gasp. She’s painted huge silver wings around my eyes and doused my lips in black paint.
“I’m a nightmare.”
“That’s the idea. Come on. Let’s go see our demon boyfriends.”

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